Roses Grow at Malfoy Manor
by Merope-Malfoy
Summary: Hermione let her hands drop from her forehead and looked up at that particular cupboard that withheld oblivion and numbness. She hadn't been allowed to feel the touch of numbness in years...and she longed for it. In those moments when her world fell apart, numbness had been everything that kept her together. Numbness and Draco Malfoy. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

** Roses Grow at Malfoy Manor **

**Chapter One-Darkness **

**Date: August 2013**

Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter were kneeling on the ground, their wands broken in half in front of them. The night air was heavy with a persistent smell of burned fig and trees; the smoke was suffocating them as they glanced at each other in terror through the grey mist. Green eyes meet brown ones in a communicative glare. They both knew what was going to happen, probably very soon. Dark hooded figures with white masks were circling around, enclosing them in a circle prison with Death Eater bars. There were more of them than they had ever anticipated. And they seemed stronger, smarter and more determined than before.

A full moon was spying on the act in the ForbiddenForest, for that was where the Auror department had sent Ron and Harry to hunt for a new clan of Death Eaters. But they never imagined so many of the Dark Lord's followers had re-recruited to a service of blind obedience and abominable acts, to follow a man who had been dead for the past 15 years.

"_Ron_..." A heavy fist hit Harry's head as he feebly attempted to whisper something to his companion. Blood ran out of his nose once more that night as he fought his body's plea to embrace unconsciousness.

"Silence!" ordered a deep, harsh sounding male voice. "_You _dare speak?" Another blow followed the first one and Harry's body finally gave in to weakness as his muscles lost their strength and he fell onto the floor. Ron said nothing, but looked at his best friend and the hero of the wizardry world who lost the ability and desire to fight those he so bitterly hated. "_Avada Kedavra!" _Emerald light engulfed the abused clearing in the Forbidden Forest as the _man—who—lived _was deprived of his life in a mere second.

Ron did not shout. He knew Harry was sentenced to death the minute they were made to kneel and their wands were broken in half. He could still see the crushed phoenix feather which united the two pieces of wood in a small pile of green grass that dared survive the fierce battle. And he knew he was to follow.

A white masked face came towards him. He did not flinch. If he were to face death, he would do it with bravery. The Death Eater raised his wand. "Why?"He wanted to know. The years he had spent as an Auror made him naturally more interrogative.

"Because the Dark Lord would be pleased to know that Potter and his friends are out of the way once he shall return." The voice was unrecognisable to Ron as he wondered how a dead man could have brainwashed so many people.

"Your Dark Lord is dead!"Ron's eyes were staring straight into the Death Eater's eyes, for the white mask could not hide them. "He's been dead for fifteen years, you dumb—"

_"Silencio!"_ Ron's lips shut as if stuck with glue and his tongue froze in his mouth. The Death Eater approached him and bent down so that his abnormal, bone-white face was a few centimetres away. And even though he was wearing a solid mask, Ron could swear the Death Eater was bestowing upon him an evil smirk, like one would bestow a curse.

"There's a way to bring him back," whispered the Death Eater with mad excitement bursting out of his voice, like a bag with holes stuffed with water.

Ron's eyes widened and his eyebrows furrowed together. The Death Eater laughed—a mad, loud noise that made the crows in the trees fly off in agitation. "Dumbledore and his puppets have always been ignorant." He cast a look at Harry's corpse and then focused his gaze back on a bewildered Ron. "So you honestly believed that destroying all the Horcruxes would kill him?" He laughed again. "You were right about that," he said, adopting a teacher like manner of speaking. "But you were mistaken to believe, even for a mere second, that any way to bring him back has been destroyed with him." A long silence followed in which the Death Eater seemed to be searching for his words. At last, he continued pacing about in front of Ron. "It was courageous for you and Potter to come here tonight. Or just foolish to believe that two men can take a whole clan of Death Eaters. You see Weasley, we are much stronger than 15 years ago and very soon we shall not need to stay in hiding any more. Once we will be reunited with the Dark Lord, all shall fall into our hands and trust me when I say that if any family dares to refuse our new order we shall not be lenient. Your and Potter's families do not need an invitation to wrong us though. When we start purging they'll be the first to go."

There were no more words in the minute that followed but Ron fought, with all his might, to break the spell that silenced him. He was ready to even beg for his family to be left alone if he could not persuade him by any other means. The Death Eater raised his wand towards Ron's chest as a jet of green light followed and dissolved into Ron, shutting off everything that made him feel and move. His vacant body fell on the floor, parallel to Harry's and no one ever saw Ronald Weasley or Harry Potter ever again.

Rose Weasley sat up in bed, sweat clinging on her brows as she tried to steady her breathing. She drew her hands over her face for a minute to make the wild hair that stuck to her forehead go away and then she glanced towards Hugo, her little brother who was peacefully sleeping next to her. The thunder must have scared him sometime earlier and made him seek refuge into her bed. She smiled a little and looked at Forbid, the stuffed dragon, left behind on the vacant bed, in Hugo's journey through the room they still shared.

Quietly, she slid from under the bed covers and made her way through the darkness to the bathroom. She did not need to put the light on, for she loved darkness. Everything was calm and quiet and unlike in the light, you could turn a blind eye on things that drained your happy thoughts. Whenever she would have a nightmare, or a bad thought, Rose never put the light on. She preferred sitting in the dark, embracing all that she could not see and imagining that the world was as simple as lightlessness made it seem.

Putting on the tap, she splashed some cold water over her face. Her breathing had calmed down and her heart had gained its normal pace, yet the images projected by her brain were still unpleasant. There had been green lightning bolts in her dream; hitting the ground and making all plants die in an instant. When the lightning ceased, everything succumbed to darkness and Rose believed the nightmare spared her. But it was not over. The next time the lightning struck, it wasn't the plants which were deprived of life. It was her father.

Rose pushed these thoughts away from her mind and blamed the nightmare on the horror movie her mom restricted her from watching. She wished she could have listened to her. She wished she could have done something else in her mother's one hour absence to the grocery store instead of watching that blasted movie. Yet breaking set rules was something she had inherited from her father.

"Rosie?" Hugo's quiet voice drew Rose back into their room and this time she did put the light on. Her little brother was terrified of darkness and the only way he accepted to sleep with the light off was if Rose was as near as possible to him. He placed his little hands over his eyes as the room was engulfed in yellowish light. His auburn curly hair (a thing which he inherited from his great-great aunt Muriel) was sticking up in every direction as if he had had a fight with his own pillow while sleeping. "I want mommy."

"Hugo...its three o'clock in the morning. Mommy's sleeping." Rose made her way back to the bed and slid under the covers, placing one arm around her little brother's shoulders.

"But I'm scared," said Hugo is a quiet voice escaping under the blanket. "I want mommy!"

"But I'm here." Rose tried to find him under the covers. He was a rather small boy for the age of five and he was even smaller when his knees were drawn up to his chest as if he was scared the walls would fall on him. "We can leave the light on if you want. But let's not wake up mommy."

There was a moment of silence in which Hugo was debating over what his sister proposed to him. Very slowly, he popped his head out from under the blanket and looked at Rose in a questioning glare. "You promise to leave the light on?"

"Yes," responded Rose making him lay down properly in bed. "Now sleep." Just as if Rose had cast the Imperius curse on him, little Hugo closed his eyes and turned on his side in search of sleep. She gave him a small smile as she lay down under the blanket, forming for herself a sanctuary which light and nightmares were not allowed to penetrate. And as soon as she closed her eyes, she fell asleep.

Hermione Weasley's wand was being pointed here and there as jars opened, pots and cans washed themselves in the sink and salt was flying in the pot on the stove containing omelette. The table was set and ready to welcome four people for breakfast, yet Hermione was debating whether to remove Ron's plate as it was not the first time he had been kept all night at work. An owl flew through the open window in the kitchen to deliver the Daily Prophet which Hermione decided to read later. After giving the bird a bit of ham, it flew back out the window and disappeared from view in the morning sun.

Hermione sat down and started drinking her coffee, when the sound of small approaching steps made her look towards the stairs. Hugo was rubbing his eyes with his sleeve and walking like a zombie towards the source of food that made him get out of bed in the first place. When he was done rubbing his eyes, he saw his mother smiling at him and he ran in her arms as if he had not seen her in over three years. Hermione picked her son up and kissed his rosy cheeks.

"I missed you mommy," said Hugo hugging her. "I was scared and Rosie didn't let me wake you up last night and we let the light on and..."

"Oh, Hugo...still scared of the thunder?" asked Hermione placing him on a chair and pouring him a cup of milk.

"Yes," responded the little boy in a small voice. "Mommy?"

"Yes Hugo?" said Hermione from behind the fridge door.

"I know you said that we can't sleep in your bed at night but can I sleep in your bed when Daddy's not home? Just when Daddy's not home? Pleaseee?" said Hugo turning around on his chair to face his mom. Hermione looked at him and smiled. "We'll see Hugo. If you're good and you stop doing things that mommy told you not to do, maybe." Hugo gave her a wide smile, and then he turned around to finish his milk. "I'll be good mommy. I promise!"

"I would love to see that, honey." Hermione grinned. She knew her son, just like her husband, could keep a promise like that for about two hours before getting into mischief again. She always wondered how Molly "did it" with Fred and George and Ron at the same time. "Hugo darling, stay here and finish your milk while I wake up Rosie, will you?"

"Uh-huh," Said the little boy looking towards the TV in the living room.

"Don't even think about it young man! Breakfast now, TV later. Understand?" asked Hermione adopting her severe voice as when Hugo was alone at home with Ron, they both ate breakfast in front of the TV, spilling milk and cereal and other things on the sofa. Hermione hated it.

"But moooommmm...Tom and Jerry's on," whined the little boy.

"And you can watch it after you finish your breakfast," continued Hermione. "Hugo, if I catch you watching TV when I get back down, you will be grounded for the rest of the day!"

Hugo said nothing more, but turned around on his chair moodily and finished his milk. Hermione gave him one more warning look and then made her way upstairs. Hugo turned around to see if his mom were still around the kitchen and then looked longingly towards the TV set. He slowly stood up and took two steps towards the living room. Disobeying his mom for Tom and Jerry was worth it. But getting grounded for the rest of the day for an episode which he was not sure he had not seen was not. Just as the little boy was debating what to do, the door bell rand.

"Daddy!" cried Hugo in excitement as he ran to the front door. He opened it and was about to throw himself in his dad's arms when he saw that the man standing on his front porch was not his father. "Oh," he said when James Uprick, his dad's boss bended down to ruffle his hair. "Hello little wizard!"

"Hi," said Hugo in a rather disappointed voice as he knew that if daddy was home, mommy might allow them both to watch Tom and Jerry.

"Is your mom around?" asked James looking around the hallway.

"Upstairs with Rosie."

A minute of silence followed. "Are you going to let me in?" asked James in a rather amused voice.

"Mommy said never let strangers in."

"I see. But if you open the door to them and they are mean, they won't ask for permission to come in. I think your mommy meant to not open the door to strangers." James was now bending to be at eye level with Hugo as the little boy's face changed to understanding.

"Oh. Okay," He said and was about to close the door in James' face before the latter held it with his hand. "I'm not a stranger, little wizard."

"Oh yeah," said Hugo and his cheeks became a little pink.

"Hugo?" asked Hermione arriving in the hallway. "Hugo, what did I tell you about opening the door to strangers?" she asked in a scolding voice.

"It's not a stranger mommy, its Mr Uprick," Cried Hugo defending himself.

"Did you ask who it was before opening the door?" continued Hermione in the same scolding voice.

"No." Hugo's voice volume dropped a few levels as he made his way towards his mother.

"Go and finish your breakfast." Hugo ran back into the kitchen, relieved that the scolding had finished. "Rose should be with you in a minute," said Hermione looking as his son resumed his seat at the table. "I'm sorry about that Mr Uprick. Do come in." She closed the door as the tall man walked in the hallway.

"I'm sorry to bother you at this early hour, Hermione, but I'm afraid we must talk," said James lowering his voice.

"Umm...come in the living room. Would you like something to drink?" asked Hermione remembering her manners. She didn't like the tone of his voice. She didn't like_ him_. James Uprick (or James Uparse as Ron called him) was a tall man of forty with dark hair sprayed with a little grey at the temples, huge blue eyes and a severe mouth. According to Ron, he had had several affairs with several of the women at the Auror office since he started there 14 years before and he had a reputation fit for a womanizer. Yet he was a great Auror, who had helped immensely in organising troops of Aurors during the Battle of Hogwarts and even Alastor Moody had respected his work.

"No thank you. I don't wish to stay long; I've just come to deliver some news." He said yet his eyes couldn't stop from looking at Hermione's body as one would analyse a rare and expensive piece of furniture. "Maybe you should sit down as well," continued James as he sat down on a sofa and patted the seat next to him for Hermione to sit down.

Yet Mrs Weasley was too smart to be fooled by his easy flirting techniques, so she sat down on a nearby armchair. James looked disappointed for a minute but remembering the news he had to deliver he adopted a more sombre look on his face. "It's about your husband."

A long silence followed in which Hermione's heart grew heavier. She wondered whether Uprick liked to play these sorts of games with distressed women. "Mr Uprick...what happened?"

"I'm really sorry to be the one to tell you this, Mrs Weasley...but your husband and Harry Potter were killed in the raid of last night."

The cup of coffee which Hermione was holding fell, decorating the wooden floor with porcelain.

"W-what?"No muscle moved in her face. There was no sign that she had comprehended the news which she had just received.

"We had anticipated that there were a few young men...still kids...who liked to play Death Eater games in the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts so we sent Harry and Ron to capture them. But we were mistaken. There were many more. Hundredths and they weren't kids. We managed to capture one of them...the rest disapparated and we used Veritaserium on him. He spilled everything. They have been re-recruiting for years and they have a way to bring Voldemort back. This one was rather young and he didn't know their plan completely...but there's older brains working behind them. Old Death Eaters who survived the battle of 15 years ago. I'm really sorry."

"They're..._dead_?" Hermione's hands started shaking as she looked up at James, the horror of realisation in her eyes. "My husband is dead?"

"I'm sorry Hermione. If there's anything I can do..."

"Please leave." Said Hermione standing up and drawing her hands over her face to try and remain at least a little together. James made his way towards where she was standing and he placed his hands over her shoulders, drawing her close. But there was something not right about that hug. It was far from a friend comforting another friend hug. James was making it more than that as he was moving his hand up and down her arm as one would stroke a cat.

Hermione abruptly turned around; giving him the most murderous glare she ever gave somebody.

"How dare you? You come into my house to tell me my husband is _d-d-dead_ and you flirt with me? What kind of man are you?" tears started flowing out of her eyes furiously as she started punching his chest and pushing him towards the door. "Get out! NOW!"

James Uprick gave Hermione one last look and then he made his way out of the house, closing the door behind him without another word. Hermione placed her hands once more on her tear wet face as her shoulders started shaking with new tears at the acknowledgement of the fact that her husband will never be home again and that once she takes his plate off the table, she will never put it back again.

When she managed to calm down a little, she looked towards the kitchen door where Rose and Hugo were holding hands. Hugo looked slightly confused, yet Hermione could read into Rose's vacant expression that she had heard everything.

"Why is daddy not coming home, mommy?" asked Hugo looking at Hermione with a questioning glare. "You said he was coming today?" he looked up at his older sister who looked about to cry as well. Hugo didn't like the atmosphere in the house. His mom was crying and his sister was on the verge of crying and now he felt like crying so two tears made their way from his eyes to his cheeks, but first through his long eyelashes. "I want daddy," he cried and ran into his mother's open arms, where he started crying even more.

"Rosie, come here." Said Hermione holding an open arm towards her seven year old daughter, but Rose didn't respond. Instead, she ran up upstairs into the small bathroom which didn't have a window, closed the door and sat down on the floor, embracing darkness and trying to forget for a few minutes, the news that her dad was dead and that he will never kiss her goodnights, play with her or see her ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two-The Roses of a Stranger **

**August 2013**

Widow. Widow. _Widowed._ The word was running through Hermione's head as if she were a young child who had just learned a new and complicated word. She had to repeat it just to get used to it. And the more she said it, the more confused she became. Her husband, Ronald Billius Weasley, was young. He was strong. Voldemort had been defeated for good 15 years before. Hadn't they, the _golden trio_, destroyed all the Horcruxes, just as Dumbledore had said? Hadn't they fought in the Battle of Hogwarts until the point of exhaustion? Hadn't they seen all those people die so that they could finish what Dumbledore told them to do? After all these years, Ron and Harry could not die at the hands of Death Eaters, for they should have been..._extinct._

She was curled up in bed in an overgrown shirt, holding Ron's pillow tightly. She knew she ought to stand up and take care of the children, but whenever she tried, the external force of reality would push on her, until she started sobbing again. Her bed seemed like a time capsule. A sanctuary where she could still wait for her husband to come home early in the morning and kiss her forehead, just like he usually did, before lying down next to her. And when she would open her eyes a few hours later, she would smile at him and hug him. And they would stay like that, embraced and lost in each other's arms until Hugo and Rose came and climbed in, complaining that they were hungry. Now there was only his pillow to hug. And it still smelled like him.

The door to her matrimonial bedroom opened slightly as the figure of a middle aged woman hesitantly came in holding a tray. She walked to the bed where Hermione seemed asleep and placed the tray with breakfast on the side table, hoping that the prominent smell of strong coffee would make Hermione open her eyes. But when the young witch seemed asleep, the older woman sat down on the bed next to her. She softly caressed her cheek and wiped away the new tears, removing the hair out of her face.

"He's dead mom," whispered Hermione opening her eyes as a new set of tears fell down elegantly on her already wet cheeks. "He's gone."

"I know honey," said Mrs Granger helping her daughter sit up in bed. "I know."

"Why?" whispered Hermione in a barely audible voice as she fought against the desire to break into tiny little pieces which could no longer be stuck together. The glue was gone out of her life. Everything that held her together was itself broken.

"I wish I could give you a real answer. It's horrible what happened to him and to Harry. It's unfair. But when was life ever fair?" She said in a calm and warm voice as pulled her daughter into a tight hug when the latter started sobbing again. "Cry it out Hermione. Cry as much as you need to, because you will see that one day the tears will dry. Ron would want you to move on."

It was several minutes before Hermione managed to pull herself together. She broke from her mother's hug and whipped away the tears with the sleeves of Ron's shirt, which she had been wearing sine the previous morning. "How did you manage when dad died?"

"Just like you, honey. I cried it out for a few days and then I told myself that he wouldn't want to see me like this. That's when I got out of bed and started moving on with him in my heart rather than my mind," said Mrs Granger while holding her daughter's hands. "There isn't a day I don't miss him Hermione. There isn't a day I don't regret not telling him to take the bus instead of that blasted car. But I know he's watching over me...and over you. And when the time comes for me to join him, I know he's up there waiting for me at the gates of Heaven because he's too terrified to go in by himself."

Hermione managed to smile at her mother. It was true; her dad never went anywhere new (whether it was a new town or a new store) without her mom. And it wasn't because he was scared; rather, it was because he knew that he wanted to share every new experience with the woman he loved.

"Have some breakfast." Mrs Granger took the omelette plate and held it out to Hermione but her daughter shock her head. "I'm not really hungry."

"Honey, you haven't eaten in nearly two days," complained her mother. "You look awful."

"I'll eat a bit later. I don't mind if it's cold," she added upon seeing her mother's facial expression. "How are the kids?"

"They're strong. Hugo's managing. He still gets teary when something reminds him of his dad, but Rose's doing a great job in distracting him." Mrs Granger smiled a little and then faced Hermione again. "But she cries more than Hugo when she thinks no one's there to see her. Every night she goes in that dark, little bathroom of hers and she weeps for half an hour. Then she goes to bed and tries to be in good spirits around Hugo until the next evening comes when she allows herself to cry. She's so much like you. Strong and smart..."

"I hope she'll be a better mother than I," said Hermione placing her hands on her head. "I ought to be with them right now."

"So you can cry in front of them? Really? No Hermione. It wouldn't be good for them to see you like this. Besides...that's what I'm here for. Take your time and pull yourself together. In the meantime I'll look after them."

"Thanks mom...I don't know what I'd do without you here."

"Don't even mention it, honey."

Rose Weasley was looking into the mirror at the little girl with big hazel eyes and dark auburn hair. People could never decide what to call her hair colour, because it was mostly brown, even in the sunlight. It was only during the summer months, when the sun was warmer and brighter that it was a little red. Calling her hair auburn, she thought, was not appropriate. As for the hazel eyes coated by overgrown eyelashes...she had stolen them from her uncle Charley, the only Weasley family member with that particular shade of green and brown combination.

She didn't like wearing black. The dress her grandmother bought for her was rather uncomfortable with a Peter Pan neckline that strangled her every time she bent down. It was Alice style and up to her knees with a matching black hair ribbon. As if she was going to a birthday party. Not a funeral. Her father and uncle's funeral. It was Hermione who was doing her hair for her. Three days after the awful news, Hermione's eyes were no longer blotchy and she didn't spend all of her time in the bedroom any more. The little girl's eyes ran from her small hands to her mother's face, then back down. Her mouth slightly opened as if she were to say something but then it closed, as if unable to let out words. A few more minutes passed in her feeble attempt at talking, but then she closed her eyes and said it. After all, it was better to say it without seeing her mother's expression changing.

"Do I have to come?"asked Rose in a small voice. She had planned to ask that question since the news her dad had died, yet she didn't know how. Hermione's hands stopped in her hair and she looked at her daughter in the mirror.

"What kind of a question is this? Open your eyes, Rose." She placed her arms on her daughter's small shoulders and made her face her.

"I know. It's just that...I don't want to see him like this."She looked down and decided she was not going to cry in front of her mother. "I don't think I can. I don't want to-to remember him like this."

"Honey, look at me," said Hermione putting a finger under Rose's chin and lifting her face up. Those big, bright eyes were deprived of the child light they once beheld. "I promise you, you will not see daddy today." She had to close her eyes for a moment as she tried to keep her voice even. She had spoken to Mrs Weasley the previous morning...and after numerous hugs and tears the whole family decided to keep Ron and Harry's coffins closed for the sake of the children. The sight of a man who had died at the hands of an unforgivable curse was unforgettable and the children were too young to remember their fathers like that. "I promise you..." She repeated "you will remember him as he was before."

Hermione set the brush down and helped Rose off the chair. "It's time to go." Rose just nodded and looked up at her mother's pale face, wondering if she could be brave and not cry at her father's funeral. For Hugo's sake.

"There was not a year at Hogwarts that was spared from Mr Weasley's and Mr Potter's mischief in the 6 years that they have been students. Whether it was an angry Basilisk or their numerous picnics in the Forbidden Forest (at this everyone laughed slightly), they surely always seemed to not abide by the set school rules like everyone else did." In 15 years, Professor McGonagall had aged a little, but she was still the same upright woman with a straight posture and an authoritative look. But as she stood on a little podium prepared for speeches in the middle of the cemetery, between two black coffins and a sea of white lilies, she looked more overwhelmed than her old students had ever seen her. Her hands were shaking slightly and it was clear to everyone who spoke to her at least once, that she was trying not to cry. "But there was always a difference between them and just rebellious students. A very big difference." She added in a more serious tone. "Because most of the rules they disregarded were not broken for the sake of being broken. In their second year at Hogwarts they found the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets and nearly got themselves killed in order to save Ginny Weasley." Everyone looked towards the little red haired witch holding the hand of Lily who did not take her eyes of her daddy's coffin. Ginny's eyes were wet with tears, her skin was paler than usual and her cheeks were shallow as if she had not slept in a long time. Albus Severus was looking down at the ground ever since the funeral service had started and James was holding Lily's other hand and looking at Professor McGonagall with pride in his eyes that his dad died like a hero; trying to keep strong for the sake of his mom and younger siblings. "They were true Gryffindors who knew what sacrifices meant and who knew that even in war those who kept justice in their hearts were the ones who will achieve justice in war." Another pause followed in which McGonagall looked at the floor for a while. When she tilted her head up again, her eyes were wet and her voice was a little shaky. "It was unfair for them to be taken away, so abruptly, from the people who need them the most. Their families didn't just loose husbands, brothers...sons, friends and uncles. They lost two of the greatest Aurors of our time. And they weren't killed in battle: they were killed by cowards who found it easier to break their wands rather than challenge them to a fair duel." McGonagall took another small pause in which her sadness metamorphosed into anger. "Because they would have won that duel. But when were Death Eaters ever fair?"

"What are Death Eaters?" whispered Hugo, looking up at his mother. Hermione was paler than usual and Hugo tightened his grip around her hand, getting closer to her. When she looked down at him, her eyes were wet with tears, which were falling down on her cheeks. "Murderers," She whispered. Rose looked up from the floor to the coffin where her dad would sleep forever. It was made of mahogany and decorated with the signs of the Deathly Hallows...or as Rose did not know what they were, golden circles, triangles and lines. There was a knot in her stomach whenever she looked towards them, making the hairs on her arms stand up. She could feel death beneath those two coffins. She could feel its cold hands grabbing each person at the funeral, reminding them that even those who were supposed to live for a long time have easily fallen in its glorious, cold hands. Whenever Rose would look away, she felt the eyes of death, with their intensity and greatness penetrate through her, playing with her soul until she could hold the tears in no longer. The visions that engulfed her were s powerful that she felt detached from the funeral service and back into her father's arms.

_"You'll be okay Rosie." He held one arm on the small of her back as his other hand was kidnapped by her own. She laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to preserve the moment that was sure to pass. And she knew that once it would pass, there would not be another one. "How do you know?" she asked._

_"I know because you're strong. And stubborn...you won't let the world act against you." He said making her face him. "And you're a Weasley."_

_Rose smiled at him. "You're a Weasley too and look what happened to you." She felt the tears build up somewhere inside her heart but she refused to let them out. _

_"That's because I never had your mom's brains." He smiled a little, trying to make a little joke that would make her feel better. But it didn't work, for Rose bowed her head down. He placed two fingers under her chin and lifted her head up. "Rosie look at me." But she refused as the tears started conquering her cheeks. "You'll be okay. You are the smartest person I have ever met and the most courageous...and I know this is hard for you and Hugo...but sometimes you have to go on no matter what happens."_

_She placed her head back on his chest and they stayed like that for a moment, without saying a word. She knew that too soon her dad would go, for good and she will never place her head on his chest...never sit on his lap again. "But you're not going to be here anymore." She whispered. _

_"Of course I will. I'll always be here when you need me. Look at me." She lifted her head from his chest and looked into his chocolate brown eyes surrounded by freckles and long eyelashes which she loved so much. "Whenever you have something to say, I will always hear you even when I don't reply. I'll always be in here." He placed his hand on her heart. They stayed like that for a while...looking at each other. She tried to memorise the face she already knew so well. She tried to take a mental picture of him so that she will never forget him. _

_"Is this a dream?" she asked looking all the way into the depths of his brown eyes, wherever it was that he hid away the sadness that he too, felt. _

_"If you want it to be a dream, it can be a dream." He said after a moment of weighting his words. _

_"But if it's a dream it means it's not true."_

_"It is true, Rosie." His voice was quieter...more tired than at the beginning. And when she looked up at him, his features were lost in a fog. She was no longer sitting on his lap and he was walking away from her, embracing the fog that made her feel disoriented and lost."Daddy, don't go. I need you!" she cried and the tears became too many for her eyelashes to block out. "I need you..." she whispered but he showed no sign on hearing her as he became blurrier ad blurrier until she was back on the green August grass in the cemetery. _"I love you..." she whispered andwiped her eyes away before Hugo and Hermione could see her. McGonagall's loud and clear voice had replaced the dreamy state of the vision she just had. The last vision of her dad. How was a mere daydream going to replace a lifetime of his absence?

"Albus Dumbledore once said: "_to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure." _A pause followed. " I am sure that both Mr Potter and Mr Weasley will enjoy driving the angels of Heaven crazy with their pranks (everyone laughed once more and then someone Rose couldn't recognise started crying. It was a woman in her early thirties with long blonde hair and a strange looking jacket with radishes attached at the sleeves. It was the only piece of colour among the gloomy, dark crowd. She was holding the hand of a little girl with the same long blonde hair, only it was curly, and a man of about 40 held a hand on the crying woman's shoulder. He was very tall and very thin, and was wearing a navy blue suit, also with radishes attached to the sleeves. Rose wondered whether it was some kind of tradition to wear radishes at a funeral, but since none of the other guests seemed to be following the tradition, she dismissed the thought.)

After Professor McGonagall stepped down the small podium, she patted the two coffins as if she was telling them to be brave and to behave wherever the path of death should take them.

The real tears came only when the coffins started to be lowered. Lily Potter had to be held back by her mother who, upon seeing her daughter wailing and kicking for her daddy to come back, started crying even more as well. Hugo and Rose would have probably done the same thing if they wouldn't have been distracted by Hermione collapsing on the ground, white as a ghost. Time seemed to have gone through a phase of slow motion as Rose looked up from her fingers to her mother, whose eyes closed, head tilted back and knees gave in to the weight. Her arms flew in front of her, as if she were a bird about to fly off...fly off and leave her children behind. The next thing Rose saw was Hugo letting go of Hermione's hand as she collapsed in the cemetery grass.

"Mommy?" Hugo's lip started trembling. "Mommy no, don't die! Not you too! Mommy!" he started crying upon seeing his mother's insentiene body, kneeled on the ground with his head bowed and the weight of an 80 year old man on his shoulders, pushing his mom's face with his hands, hoping to wake her up. "She'll be fine," whispered Rose wiping away her tears with one shaky arm. Her breathing started getting heavier when Hermione didn't wake up, didn't move and didn't seem to be breathing, as she started disbelieving her own words. "Mom?" she asked before feeling somebody's arms lifting her up from the scene. Mr Weasley seemed to have lifted little Hugo up, who upon seeing his grandfather started crying in his chest, holding on to Arthur for dear life. "It's okay little H. It's okay...shhh," whispered Mr Weasley as he took Hugo far away from the scene.

"No, I have to be there...no...MOM!" screamed Rose while kicking and screaming.

"She'll be okay Rosie. She'll be fine. She just fainted." She recognised the voice as belonging to Bill, one of her favourite uncles, who didn't often speak, yet when he did everyone kept quiet. He held her firmly from the back, close to him, whispering things that Rose couldn't hear. The only thing she could see was her mother dressed in black, sprawled on the green grass, her bushy hair around her head like some sort of halo. A dozen or so people were around her and Rose saw someone take her pulse before the vision became blurry with a new set of tears.

"I want to go back!" she cried, but Bill held her in place in a strong grip.

"Your mom needs some space. I promise she'll be okay."

"I don't believe promises anymore!" cried Rose getting slightly hysterical. "Dad told me he'd be fine when he left that night...he told me he'd be fine...he promised me...he said..." The desperate look in Rose's teary eyes reminded Bill of Ron when he was about two years old and he cried when Fred or George would play the underwear prank on him. It occurred every two weeks and when Ron sensed the moment approached, his eyes became watery and desperate for an escape. He remembered how, when he was a Hogwarts student he would jokingly threaten Fred and George to leave little Ron alone or he'll take them to Snape (who he'd often descried to them as the Dungeon Greasy Bat), a habit which Ron had inherited in the years to follow (he threatened the twins with the Bill and Dungeon's Bat curses until he reached the age of four when the twins stopped playing that particular prank on him). Looking at that desperate look in Rose's eyes...Ron's eyes...and reminiscing made his own eyes become slightly watery with the loss of yet another brother.

"Shhh..." Bill pulled her in a tight hug as Rose finally broke down in the tears she tried so hard not to shed. They fell and fell and she just didn't care anymore that she was being weak. Her dad should have been there...she shouldn't be crying in her uncle's chest. Bill had his own kids who will always have a dad. Victorie, Dominique and Louis will always have a dad. She couldn't help it but feel jealous since her was snapped away from her so abruptly. "He promised..." she whispered in a soft voice entangled in tears and emotions too abominably big for a seven-year old child. "Shhh," Bill whispered back, rubbing her back, trying, in vain, to make her feel better.

When Hermione came back to consciousness a few minutes later, mostly everyone had left, except for her mom, Molly, Arthur, Bill, Fleur and the kids. They were all looking down at her in a concerned way, and for the strangest reason, Hermione felt as if she was missing something that they all knew yet were not inclined to share just yet. There was so much black around that for a moment she wondered why she woke up at all. The black of their clothes was a reminder of the dark shadows residing in her heart and blocking out the sunlight of anything and anyone she ever loved.

But then she felt selfish. She had two wonderful kids, staring down at her with sad big eyes. These two kids of hers could not lose their mother as well. They were too young to be left alone. Left alone in such a cruel world.

"I'm okay." She sat up abruptly but everyone around her looked at each other with concerned expressions. "Really. It must be the exhaustion." Their disbelieving faces annoyed her and she just wanted to go home and be left alone with her mom and her kids. She needed solitude to cry for the conqueror of her heart that had fallen in war.

"It's not the exhaustion honey," said her mom placing a warm hand on her shoulder. She looked rather uncomfortably at Molly Weasley who gave her an encouraging look. "Molly casted a...umm...what did you call it?"

"Diagnosis charm," said the latter, placing her hand on Hermione's forehead as if she were a sick child. "And I'm afraid I was right." She withdrew her hand off her daughter in law's forehead and grabbed Hermione's hand encouragingly while giving Jean a sign to _say it._

"Honey you're pregnant."

"W_hat_?" Hermione looked at her mother in disbelief. They were playing a sick joke on her. That was the only reasonable answer. Hermione looked at all of them as if they were mad. She couldn't be pregnant. It was true that the night before Ron's last mission the ticking sound of seconds had been filled with passion, but she took the contraceptive potion she had prepared a day or so before. Hadn't she?

"Oh my God," she whispered out as the realisation that she did not take the potion hit her. It hit her right in the chest as she visualised herself and Ron getting _busy_ before she brought it from the kitchen. She was sure that if she were home, she would see it lying on the table, forgotten in a little dark corner. How could she have been so stupid? She was in no health state to have another child...she didn't even know if she ever wanted another baby. A child who will never meet its father. A child in a time when Death Eaters were raising to power again. "Oh my God," she repeated and placed her head in her hands. "I'm not ready for another baby."

"No one is, dear," said Mrs Weasley giving her a tight hug. I certainly wasn't ready to have seven children, but it will turn out to be okay. You're a strong, independent woman."

"What does pregnant mean?" whispered little Hugo in a confused voice, towards Fleur who smiled at him and said: "It meanzz zat you will have anotherr brotherr or sisteerr."

"Oh." Hugo looked at his mom and then his eyes went wide.

"Oh Fleur..." said Hermione giving her sister in law a warning look. "You shouldn't have..."

"Ah...bien sur...but it iz great newzz," cried Fleur with delight.

The news of her mother's pregnancy did not delight nor saddened Rose. She was in a trance like state where even the greatest of news did not make her react. While everyone else was around Hermione, she made her way to her dad's resting place and sat down in front of it caressing the memorial stone and outlining with her fingers her father's name. She could not believe that he was in a dark coffin, underneath her. She could not believe that he will never kiss her goodnight ever again...that he will not be there at her wedding and that he will not be there when her little brother or sister will be born. She couldn't believe he was really gone. Gone from her when she least expected it. Snatched away as abruptly as summer, because the September winds had already come to greet them and in a few weeks time when the leaves were to start dying, Ron would not be there to greet autumn with them. She drew her knees to her chest as a light wind made the fallen lily petals fly around her and she placed her chin on her knees and wondered if this was the closest she will ever get to her dad from now on. Even if he was a few meters beneath her, she felt as if they were worlds apart and separated by an entire universe. No collision was ever possible...they would never reunite in her lifetime.

As she looked up through the masses of white lilies towards Harry's grave, another lost dad, she saw the figure of a tall man dressed in black approaching it. He had blonde hair and a rather masculine jaw, and the coldest eyes Rose had ever seen. The icy way he looked, made her want to run away from him back to the Weasley's, yet there was a strange air which drew her in. She didn't move. When he reached Harry's grave, he placed two red roses on the memorial stone and then looked at Rose. He had very few wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes, and she realized that his hair was not short; rather it was placed in a neat pony tail at the back of his head. He reminded her of someone she had seen in an old copy of the Daily Prophet a few years ago, but much younger. The blonde man didn't say or motion anything; he just stood there for a few seconds looking at the tear stained face of the little girl before disapparating as swiftly as the wind. She had no idea who he was or why he had not come earlier at the funeral, but her father's curiosity which she had inherited, made her walk to Harry's grave and inspect the two roses more carefully. There was only a small piece of parchment attached to one of them, with _condolences from Malfoy Manor _written in the finest writing Rose had ever seen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three—The Salvation Of An Old Enemy**

**Date: September 2013**

The early September winds were so cold and bitter that there was no trace summer had just recently packed its belongings and departed. They whipped buildings and statues and even the squirrels had abandoned their daily rummaging through parks seeking food. Rain clouds became more and more common, until clear skies were forgotten and everyone put away their summer clothes and took out of storage the warm autumn ones. A carpet of rusty coloured leaves decorated the pavement, but with the northern clouds that arrived with autumn it wasn't long until they turned into mushy wet debris that everyone tried to avoid. Naturally, there were fewer people in parks as the green grass adopted a rather unpleasant shade of yellow, while taking dogs out for walks became more of a task than a pleasure.

That particular September day was no different. It had been drizzling since early morning and there were few people on the streets, preferring instead the warmth of their own shelters. The swishing wind was making loud noises as it channelled through long alleyways and even if people were on the streets they would have not heard the loud pop caused by somebody apparating in wizardry central London.

The wizard in question was a man of a generous height with broad shoulders and dark hair contrasted by very pale skin and luminous grey eyes that could penetrate a person's soul without hesitation. His mouth was naturally curved upwards in the right hand corner, giving the impression that he was always smirking and this effect was made more prominent by his masculine jaw. He looked around the deserted streets for a little while, then, arranging the collar of his pitch black cloak, turned a corner and made his way towards the main entrance of the Ministry of Magic with confident steps, kidnapping the fugitive looks of the few witches apparating and disapparating around the grand building.

It was a busy day at the Ministry but the mysterious wizard knew exactly where he was going and he did not need an appointment. It was time and he knew it. Soon enough, the power he had would extend beyond imagination and he would change many, many things according to his own liking. He walked past the Fountain of Magical Brethren as somebody nodded at him and he veered left towards the elevators. There was barely anyone inside, except for a man who he recognised as working in the Wizengamot Administration Department, probably headed for the second floor and a dozen or so interdepartmental memos under the form of lilac paper airplanes levitated in mid air. The other man nodded curtly as the mysterious wizard departed the elevator once it reached the first floor and headed confidently towards the Office for the Minister of Magic. Outside the office a small and rather young looking woman sitting at a mahogany desk who was writing on a piece of parchment and almost did not notice the tall wizard as he was about to open the Minister's office.

"I'm sorry, sir, you need an appointment. The Minister is very busy..."she started in a rather high pitched voice, but went quite red as he gave her his special grey eyes look and charming smirk.

"He's expecting me," he lied and confidently went in as the woman seemed lost for words. He knew that by the time he would come back out she would have put on more lipstick and let her hair down. After all...they all did.

Kingsley Shacklebolt nearly dropped his quill when the door slammed shut and the figure of a man he did not particularly like stood, patiently in front of him.

"Dominus," he acknowledged and expected him to say something. When it was clear that Dominus was not to speak just yet, Kingsley continued, "I wish you could have made an appointment...I'm afraid I must depart to a meeting on the third floor." He stood up picking folder on his desk when Dominus spoke in a soft but firm voice, "Sit down, Minister, this is important."

"Is it?" he asked in a rather disbelieving voice. "Well I'm sure I can schedule a meeting with you this afternoon..."

"Sit down." He took his wand out and forced Kingsley to sit back down on his chair. The latter looked utterly surprised, but Dominus smiled at him as if he had merely made a comment about the weather. Outside the drizzle had turned into heavy rain. "This is news beyond an appointment," he added and took his black cloak off, revealing a dark navy suit with wrought dragon teeth instead of buttons and a coiling serpent brooch made of goblin silver on its collar. He threw the cloak on a nearby chair, carelessly as if he were at home and stared pacing around the large office. "And..." he continued..."it is top secret information." He looked at the many frames decorating the Minister's office and then back down at Kingsley who seemed prepared to listen.

"Dismissed," he said in a deep voice as all the previous Ministers in the framed paintings on the wall departed, giving the smirking wizard alarmed looks. Then he looked at Dominus in a less than kind way and added, "What is it, that is so important, Mr Blackwell?"

Dominus took out his wand and pointed it at the ceiling: "_Silencio. _Now we're ready to talk," he added. "Right about now, Death Eaters are at your house, debating whether to torture your wife and daughters." Kingsley's face crumpled into a sheet of emotions as he attempted to stand up, but Dominus' spell held him chair bound. "_W-_what?" he asked in a disbelieving voice.

"They have approximately one hour left of living, unless you do as I say." Dominus consulted his pocket watch, a heavy gold oval decorated with small black stones on the margins and with an inscription which Shacklebolt could not see, encrypted on the back. He seemed to be admiring it for a minute and then he placed it back into his pocket and sat down on the chair in front of Kingsley's desk, as grey eyes penetrated brown ones with an icy stare.

"What do you want?" he asked in a tormented voice. "This won't go unnoticed!" he threatened.

"Oh, I think it will." He smirked, and then added adopting the parody of a serious face. "I'm sure I can tell you the whole story, but what will happen to your family once I reach the end?"He smiled.

"What do you want? Who do you work for?" the Minister's hands were shaking, as they were clenched in fists.

"Well...let's see. Who do I work for? You see, he goes by many, many names. Some people call him he-who-must-not-be-named, others go for Tom Riddle. Who do I work for, Minister? I work for the Dark Lord." The pride in his voice sickened Shacklebolt as he threw Dominus a disgusted look.

"The Dark Lord's dead." He said in a voice that hid the realisation of something too horrible to think about. "He's gone." He repeated more for himself than for Dominus who gave Shacklebolt a mean grin.

"Not for long," whispered Dominus. "Soon, he shall rise again. There's a way to bring him back. But enough about that. I have other business to discuss with you."

Kingsley kept silent, but he looked more and more uncomfortable. Harry Potter and Dumbledore had defeated Voldemort—he was sure of it. The world had been tranquil for 15 years and there was no way to bring him back. But looking into Dominus Blackwell's eyes that morning, Kingsley started doubting his own assertions. Had Harry Potter's death been a mere accident at work as everyone seemed to believe, or were Uprick's aberrations which everyone disregarded, correct?

"You will promote me to the position of the Minister's Adviser and sack Linegreen. You will approve and immediately pass any new law or reform I make, and you will support me in every speech of yours, praising my work and assuring the crowds that Death Eater attacks are only speculations. Instead, you will say that Mudbloods are behind future attacks as they want to overthrow the Ministry and change the importance of blood status. They want revenge. You will not act against any arrest of Muggleborns and squibs and you shall not object to their immediate death sentence if found guilty, which of course, they will be."

"You're insane. I will not permit that! You would have to kill me first!" shouted Shacklebolt, looking at Dominus as if he were Voldemort himself.

"Oh, I will. Don't worry, Minister, I shall dispose of you once the Dark Lord will resume your place, but I'm sure you wouldn't want your family to go down with you as well. It would be such a shame, wouldn't it? I heard your twins have one year left of Hogwarts, don't they?" Blackwell smirked as Shacklebolt looked close to having a heart attack.

"Lastly, in order to make sure you keep your promise we shall make the Unbreakable Vow which, just for this case, has been amended. You see...if you break it, not only you will die, but your entire family shall perish as well." Dominus stood up and released Shacklebolt from the chair bounding spell, holding his arm out.

Kingsley did not move for a minute, but when Dominus looked at his pocket watch and reminded him, with the most evil smirk that he had only half an hour left before his family should be tortured into madness and then mercifully killed. At that, Kingsley stood up and held out his hand as well for the Unbreakable Vow to be completed.

"Will you, Kingsley Shacklebolt allocate me the post of your Adviser?" For once that day, Blackwell's voice had adopted a more serious tone as he was looking into the Minister's brown, tortured eyes.

"I will," replied the latter in a regretful, sad voice as a thin, golden rope bound their arms together in a vow of abominable acts and terror.

"And will you support and rid any criticism of any reform and legislation I shall pass?"

"I...I will."

"Finally, will you, Kingsley Shacklebolt guard this secret with your life?"

There was a moment of hesitation. Shacklebolt knew he had to do what Dominus had asked of him, yet he still hoped that someone might walk in on them...someone might walk in on them and tell him his family's safe. But nobody walked in and the Minister bowed down his head, saying in a small voice: "I will."

"And will you, if you fail, kill your wife, daughters and then yourself?"

"_N-no_ I...I...I mean..." started Kingsley, lost for words at what he was forced to promise. His eyes grew wide and his heart beats had reached such a dangerous speed that he felt rather dizzy. His office, packed with hundredths of books and pieces of parchment between various magical objects left behind from previous Ministers seemed to be collapsing on him, as his lungs were deprived of air. Only Dominus' clear voice reminded him this was not a nightmare. "Will you, _Ministe_r?"

"I will." The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He widened his eyes as Dominus smiled and said something along the lines of _lovely._

Once the Unbreakable Vow was completed, Blackwell let go, picked up his cloak and headed for the door. Before he opened it, he smiled at the Minister who was now nothing more than his puppet, and said in a cheerful voice: "Good day Minister. It was nice coming to a compromise. Bye now." He smiled and before closing the door, Shacklebolt heard him inviting Mina, his secretary, to a cup of Firewhiskey after work.

She agreed.

One week later...

When Hermione saw Ginny at the door that morning, hidden beneath an overgrown cloak and hood and holding a copy of the Daily Prophet in one hand, she knew that something of great magnitude on the "terrible scale" was bound to happen.

"We need to talk." Ginny's voice was grave and a little shaky. Her brown eyes showed a slight annoyance behind the heavy coat of eyelashes that Harry had always loved. Hermione stepped aside to let her sister in law walk in, and directed her into the kitchen.

"Coffee?" she asked while Ginny removed her coat and placed it on the back of her chair before sitting down. Just like Hermione, she was still in mourning for her husband and the black dress she was wearing made her look paler than usual. She nodded once at Hermione who, with a flick of her wand, put the kettle on, as the jar of coffee levitated itself into mid air.

"What's wrong?" asked Hermione, giving the Daily Prophet on the table fugitive looks. She did not look any better than Ginny. Her wavy hair was placed in a messy bun at the bottom of her head, an attempt at keeping it out of the way without looking completely like she did not care. She was wearing a black pair of jeans and a dark navy top that Ginny recognised as once belonging to Ron. The atmosphere between the two witches was one of misery and exhaustion of living life without their husbands and several minutes passed before Ginny spoke again.

"We need to leave," she said looking down at the cup of coffee that levitated itself on the table. A tea spoon was also making its way towards Ginny, with a jar of brown sugar not far behind. "No sugar," she added in a quick glance as the jar and spoon made their way back to their places. When she lifted her eyes to Hermione, the latter's face was serious and tensed.

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione. It was then that she gave the Daily Prophet a proper look. Ginny said nothing more, as Hermione had all the answers she needed in front of her.

Mrs Weasley cast her eyes upon the tile on the front page, atop of the picture of Kingsley**_: "THE MINISTER'S NEW ADVISER, DOMINUS BLACKWELL, IS STARTING A PROGRAMME OF_** **MAGICAL REFORMS."** Beneath the big title, there was a subtitle in small letters that seemed to be moving around the page before arranging themselves to be read: **_"Hermione Weasley needed for questionings after the implementation of Blackwell's new legislation."_**

"What?!" Hermione looked at Ginny horror struck. She then looked back down at the picture of Kingsley who was doing his best for the forced smile to look as real as possible and hoped that the article was written by Rita Skeeter and no one even imagined of taking what she babbled about into account. Beneath the large and terribly irritating title, a small hand indicated the readers to turn to page ten, where she found what she was looking for.

_MAGICAL REFORMS AND THE TRAGIC DEATHS OF HARRY POTTER AND RONAL WEASLEY (an article by Charlie Manson)_

_Dominus Blackwell, the new Adviser of the Minister has started his job at the Ministry of Magic early last week as the previous Adviser, Jason Linegreen has mysteriously disappeared after being sacked by Shacklebolt himself. The Minister wishes to give no comments on the account. _

_Barely a week into his new position and Blackwell already wishes to ameliorate the Magical Legislations that have been "outdated" for centuries. He has even stated that he is planning to reform the entire Ministry of Magic in ten years, an achievement not even Dumbledore himself would have been able to accomplish, especially since the fifth floor is still hiding._

_Just last morning, the Law for the Interrogation and arrest of suspects for Category One Magical Offences has been activated. And I say activated witches and wizards, because if a person is on the offence list, all means of magical transport are deactivated for them until declared innocent. Brooms shall not fly, the Floo Network will not listen to them, apparitions will splinch the flesh, and port keys shall transport them right in the Ministerial interrogation waiting room. _

_For those of you who do not know what Category One Magical Offences are, here is a small reminder:_

_i. Murder by any magical and non magical means_

_ii. Suicide (if applicable the ghost of the deceased shall be imprisoned in a special ghost prison)_

_iii. Inheritance of magical estates and objects by muggle-borns (suspects of using the unforgivable curses to bewitch a half- blood or pure- blood into leaving them inheritance)_

_Thankfully, the Law for the Interrogation and arrest of suspects for Category One offences allows Ministry officials to legally arrest suspects without a warrant as they are seen as a safety liability for the rest of the community (apart from suicide victims)._

_We have all heard of the tragic accidental deaths of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley last month while they were training with new defence spells. The entire wizardry world was shocked at this terrible accident that has deprived us of our saviour in defeating he-who-must-not-be-named 15 years ago. But as the investigation concerning their deaths go on, Ministry criminologists believe that while Harry Potter's death may have been accidental, Mr Weasley's was an entire different matter. Mr Blackwell himself placed Mrs Hermione Weasley on the list of people that need to be interrogated for number one magical offences, as poison was found in Mr Weasley's digestive system and..._

Hermione looked at Ginny horror struck. "This is ridiculous! What accidental death? Are they blind?"

"Here, read this one," said Ginny taking out of her bag the most recent copy of the Daily Prophet where Hermione looked into the eyes of herself in a black and white photograph. It was after she had given birth to Hugo and she was smiling down at him while Harry and Ron were around her. It was a family photograph and the only way they could have gotten it was from the senior Weasleys themselves. Next to her own picture, was another one of James Uprick smiling and waving at a camera. He was years younger than when Hermione had last seen him and it was only when she looked at the title that she gasped: **BREAKING NEWS: JAMES UPRICK DEAD!** She quickly flicked to page three where she found the notorious article.

_HERMIONE WEASLEY: GUILTY OF MURDER? (Article by Rita Skeeter)_

_The first time I met Hermione Weasley (nee Granger) I knew there was something evil within her. Although it took more than 17 years for this truth to come out to the surface, I was proven correct by the latest chain of events concerning the Potters and the Weasleys. _

_After attending the tragic funeral in August, I was taken aback by the fact that Mrs Weasley shed no tears for the deaths of her own husband and best friend. Indeed, I even recall seeing her smiling every now at then at a certain gentleman with a black hat that covered most of his face. _

_It was only after the guests started leaving that I managed to put the puzzle pieces together. And what did I discover, witches and wizards of Britain? Hermione Weasley, the same woman that worked in the Department of Magical Creatures at the Ministry of Magic, was having an affair with the head of the Auror Department, James Uprick when her own husband was wasting away, working for Uprick himself to maintain the family. _

_Indeed, something must have gone wrong in this chain of events. An anonymous source (member of the vast Weasley family) has confirmed that while Ronald Weasley was away at work, Mrs Weasley would receive numerous visits from James Uprick, for several hours. However revolting this may sound, it is true. _

_They planned a life together and Mrs Weasley was to leave the children with Mr Weasley while going away with Mr Uprick. This never happened, for her own husband discovered the affair she was having. And what did Mrs Weasley do? She was after all, one of the cleverest students of Hogwarts in her youthful days, able to brew numerous potions and perform numerous spells. Some wicked witches would say she did what she had to do: poisoned her poor husband in such tiny quantities that the effects would lead to death in a week. So when Mr Weasley dropped dead while training, it was no accident! Mr Potter, distracted by his friend falling down lifeless, was himself hit by a new and deadly curse. I cannot imagine what Hermione's conscience may be like. _

_And if this is not enough, when James Uprick changed his mind, she used the same method to finish him as well. He died overnight, barely two days ago. The investigation is still going on, but we all know what the results will be. She's guilty. How do I know? Mr Blackwell himself has placed Hermione on the list for the interrogation and arrest of suspects for Category One Magical Offences and she still has not showed up to the Ministry. What does that show, witches and wizards? What does it..._

Hermione put the newspaper on the table and stared at Ginny. No one spoke a word; there was only the ticking of the clock in the background to remind them they were wasting even more time. When she looked at Ginny, her eyes filled with tears.

"The reason why I refused to read the paper was because I was afraid of news like these. But I never imagined that..."

"Hermione, what can you expect from Death Eaters? It doesn't take a genius to recognise what Dominus Blackwell is. They've infiltrated the Ministry and they're denying that they're back. If Shacklebolt is not under the Imperius Curse than..."

"They want to get rid of the trio," said Hermione standing up and staring to walk through the kitchen, a habit she had when thinking hard. "They're bringing Voldemort back and they want to get rid of any serious opposition for their plan to work properly. They killed James because he knew and they are making everyone think I'm to blame! But...what about all the people at the funeral? They all know the truth as well." Hermione stopped walking around and she looked at Ginny with slight confusion.

Ginny stood up as well and said: "They've somehow obliviated all of them. Mom and Dad believe the story...Bill, Charley and Percy as well and McGonagall is not making any comment which tells me she might be under the Imperius curse. I think they've infiltrated Hogwarts again."

"What about you?" asked Hermione. Harry Potter had been the main target and that was as clear as a crystal. Ginny and the kids were Harry's heirs so they were a bigger threat than herself, Rose and Hugo.

"They haven't publically attacked me yet. But it won't be long. Everyone knows who I am. Hermione...we have to leave the country and hide somewhere 'till we figure out what to do. Not too long and they'll turn the entire wizardry world against us. You have to come with me." Ginny's voice had gained a certain tone that indicated to Hermione that she had a plan. "We have an old aunt living in wizardry Italy in a big mansion, very close to Antonioni, their equivalent of Hogwarts. It's just as big and just as old and if the kids learn Italian they'll have no problems when they go there. Clearly we can't send them to Hogwarts. James, Al and Lily are already there...I didn't want them to stay in the UK a minute longer when I read the news. I can still apparate and disapparate as I'm not on the list yet, but we have to find a way to get you and the kids out of the country without being detected." Hermione sat down at the kitchen table and placed her head in her hands. "Oh Merlin..." she said.

"You have to be strong now. We have to leave tonight, but I'm afraid if we take the train or the...what do muggles call it? _The plane_ Death Eaters might be able to track us down."

"We're taking the car," said Hermione. My mom went home early this week but she has left me dad's old car to visit her. We'll take that."

"And we fly there," added Ginny with a little smile at the thought. When Ron was 12 and he saved Harry from the Dursleys, he would often describe to her how fun the ride in the invisible Ford Anglia was. Since Ginny had loved flying on brooms at Hogwarts, she always wished she could travel via muggle cars.

"Oh...Ginny, muggle cars don't fly. We'll just be on the road until we get out of the country and we can apparate to Italy." Hermione stood up and started taking out various pots and cans from various cupboards.

"What are you doing?"

"We can't drive a muggle car looking like us...we need Poly Juice potion." Her hands were already working on the greasy substance as she carefully arranged four cups.

"But it takes a month to brew," said Ginny standing up to take a look at the unappealing substance that Hermione was placing in the cups.

"I used to brew it for Ron when he needed to disguise himself in his missions...he didn't like the simpler version they used at work. He preferred the traditional way of making it...said he feels safer. We even have a number of muggle hairs. Here, you can be a blonde." Hermione handed Ginny the ready Poly Juice potion which had turned into a more appealing pink milkshake like substance that smelled faintly of lavender. Hermione's on the other hand was dark red smelling prominently of roses.

The dark green Vauxhall was driving along the English countryside. The sky was semi clouded, with sun rays making their way out to greet the rusty coloured landscape and remind it that summer was to come again in a few months time, with its clear skies and warm winds and colours.

The driver of the green Vauxhall was a young looking woman with pitch black, straight hair and a pair of piercing grey eyes, like those of a porcelain doll. She was dressed in sporty muggle clothes and had a pair of sunglasses at the top of her head in order to keep the hair out of her face. Next to her, was also a young looking woman with curly blonde hair and brown eyes, dressed all in black and looking utterly uncomfortable at the _non-flying_, green muggle car. Her hands were clenched on her seat, even though a seat belt would have been unnecessary for that certain velocity.

On the back bench, Rose was disguised as a dark haired and fair skinned skinny child, a little too tall for the age of seven, while Hugo was a curly haired blonde little boy with sky blue eyes and rosy cheeks fit for pinching. Although they had travelled via muggle cars before, it was not a very prominent occurrence and while Hugo was fascinated by the driving wheel and the moving arrows and numbers, Rose was staring out of the window remembering the first time she had been in a muggle car.

The certain incident occurred when she was four years of age and she had come down with a very bad fever that required St Mungo's attention. It was a stormy winter evening and they could not have used the Floo Network as the penultimate chimney before St Mungos had gone up in real flames due to a terrible fire that had swallowed the entire house. As a result, the entire Floo Network had been diverted and Hermione deduced it would be faster if they went to St Mungos by muggle car. She drove, while Ron stayed on the back bench with Rosie, but once they reached the hospital, Ron was green in the face and in need of medical attention himself. They went back home by port key, as apparition would have upset both Rose and Ron's stomachs.

Rose smiled absently at the memory, as the green muggle car passed a field of grapes. It was not long before the sun had set, allowing the sky to enter the twilight zone. By this time all the clouds had disappeared and the countryside panorama, with its vast vineyard belonging to some rich muggle, was enclosed in warm colours that took away all shadows on one's face. Rose had seen the twilight many times in her life, and it was a particular time, between darkness and light that she allowed herself a few moments of tranquillity, casting away all the worries that made her want to stay in the dark for hours and hours. That particular twilight, she tried to forget about her father's death. She tried to forget how lonely she felt, even though she had Hermione. She tried to forget the fact that instead of Hogwarts, she will go to a random Italian school. But most of all she tried to forget the fact that she will not set foot in England for a very long time. Or so she thought then.

It was not long before her eyelids, heavy with sleep, went down to cover her polyjuiced eyes she was not familiar with. Darkness penetrated the green Vauxhall as Hermione was making her way towards the nearest abandoned wizard port in the North Sea from where they were to take a small boat and sail thought the dark waters to France. And then they would apparate.

Someone gently shock Rose to wake up. She could feel Hugo's curly hair tickling her cheek and when she opened her eyes, she opened them at the familiar sight of her own brother's face and sandy, brown hair...her own hands and her own mother. Hermione was caressing her arm as Rose stood up, while Ginny helped Hugo back into his jumper. She looked outside and saw nothing, for a heavy fog had fallen upon them, concealing their presence.

"Where are we?" she whispered a little nervously, for it looked rather bizarre outside.

"Helga's Port. In the olden days they used to transport baby dragons into mainland Europe. But it had closed down over a century ago, when rare dragon trade became illegal in the UK." Hermione managed a small smile when looking at Rose. She smiled back at her mom, yet she knew how much effort it took to make a forced smile realistic.

"What's illegal?" asked Hugo, wiping his eyes to make sleep go away.

"It means you're not allowed to do something," said Ginny giving Hugo a little smile. "Come on, take your bags. We don't have much time." She looked at Hermione when she said that last sentence and for a strange reason, Rose got a nostalgic feeling in her stomach.

"Mommy," she said in a barely audible voice, "when are we going to go back home?"

Hermione looked at her for a moment. Rose was not like any other child she had seen. Sometimes she thought that she was too mature for her age and lying to her like one would lie to a child to make her feel better, would not work with Rose. So instead, she just said: "I don't know honey." Rose just nodded and accepted like an adult. And yet Hermione knew that beneath the adult like surface, a scared child was hiding. But that scared child had too much responsibility for the sake of her little brother to come out. She made a mental note to tell Rose that being a child every now and then was not a crime.

They made their way quickly but carefully through the heavy curtain of fog in search of the small boat they had arranged. But as they advanced through the old port, they started feeling the hands of uneasiness claw at them from behind. All of them knew they were being followed, and whoever was behind them was getting closer and closer. Hermione picked Hugo up, while Rose was holding on to her jumper tightly, Ginny right behind her. Once they would reach the safety of the boat house, and old and ragged building, they would hide the kids and take their wands out to fight whoever was pursuing them. But it was too late. A jet of red light hit Ginny right in the small of her back as she collapsed on the floor in the spasm of a hundred knives stabbing her body. When she started screaming, Hugo started crying.

Hermione placed Hugo next to Rose and pointed her wand at what she could not see in the fog. Ginny was convulsing as if in the middle of an exorcism of spells while Rose kneeled on the ground to hug Hugo who was more terrified than he had ever been. From the corner of her terrified eyes, she could see the shadow of many figures moving in the fog. It wasn't just one person...there were more than 20. It was only when she saw the white skull like mask of a man with a pointed black hood that she screamed. The fog was thinning and the nightmare was becoming more real.

A Death Eater lifted the curse of Ginny's exhausted body. She ceased screaming, but her body was still in convulsion. The brown of her eyes disappeared in the white sockets and her red hair was sprawled around her like a pile of blood. Hermione lowered her wand and drew Rose and Hugo closer. They were both crying.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" Hermione could not recognise the deep voice of the Death Eater who addressed her. They were surrounded by the Dark Lord's followers and each had their wands out, pointed right at them. "Trying to ignore the interrogation law, Mrs Weasley?"

Hermione stared at him without providing a reply. She wished the Poly Juice potion wouldn't have warned off. They would have been safer acting like a bunch of confused muggles wandering around like headless chicken. The white masked figure with a dark pointy hood advanced forward, and in the instant of a swift movement, grabbed Hermione's jaw between his strong fingers, drawing her head a few inches away from his. Rose and Hugo were lifted in a mere second away from their mother, and in the attempt of kicking and screaming they were silenced with a silencing charm in the arms of tall and dark figures. Only the tears coming out of their wide eyes could show how scared they were.

"There's one thing the Daily Prophet didn't mention," he continued, tightening his grip around her jaw until she let out a small moan of pain through her clenched teeth, "We have placed very sensitive detection charms a few meters away from the borders. As you are on the register of interrogation...you set the alarm off and I'm afraid your little trip must be...postponed."

Through the corners of her eyes, Hermione saw Ginny gaining back her mental consciousness in a feeble attempt to sit up. There were no Death Eaters around her and after mouthing a painful _sorry_ to Hermione she disapparated while she still could. Mrs Weasley mentally smiled at the fact that at least Ginny got away. But she did not have much time to think of her sister in law, as her lungs compressed in the absence of air, her feet felt detached from the earth and when she next opened her eyes, she found herself in the biggest interrogation room in the Ministry of Magic. She had often been in that room, doing different apprentice errands before she got her job, but never in her life, had she been the person in need of interrogation. The Death Eater released her jaw and before she could start worrying about the whereabouts of her children, two pops cracked in the air and the Death Eaters holding Rose and Hugo apparated. Rose was terribly pale and Hugo was a light shade of green that passed completely from his face when he vomited on the robes of the Death Eater holding him. The latter let out an incomprehensible swear word before throwing little Hugo on the floor. Rose joined him in a minute and the other Death Eaters disapparated leaving the Weasley's alone with only their superior.

"Charming children you have, Mrs Weasley," he said and behind the solid mask, Hermione could swear he was smirking.

"What do you want from us?" She spat the words out with increasing acrimony. Already on her pale jaw, the Death Eater's fingers started appearing under dark bruises. She looked at her kids, not knowing what was to follow. Rose was holding Hugo as he was rubbing his elbow and looking at the dark hooded figure in terrible fright.

"To interrogate you about your husband's death. And while we're here, you could tell me about James Uprick as well." Rose's eyes widened. She had not seen the newspaper the day before and so she had no idea that according to the Ministry of Magic, her own mother was the prime suspect of her father's death. And what did Mr Uprick have to do with all this?

"How long do you expect to fool people that Death Eaters are behind this?" Hermione looked at the hooded figure with a murderous glare.

"Oh, don't you worry Mrs Weasley. The people will be fooled for as long as we want them to be fooled. You see...they are already suspecting, based on our evidence of course, that Muggleborns...oh Mudbloods, whichever name you prefer, are organising an uprising to terminate the importance of blood status. You can imagine how frightened half bloods and pure bloods are. And as for you Mrs Weasley, you shall never open your mouth against us because you will never have the chance to. Once we find you guilty for the deaths of your husband and James Uprick, you shall be executed and your children will be relocated to different homes where they will learn to support us." The Death Eater than lifted his wand, and for a moment Hermione closed her eyes in fright, but he only withdrew the mask from his face to reveal the greyest eyes, Hermione had ever seen. They were contrasted by very pale skin and pitch black hair and when he smirked, Hermione understood immediately who he was.

"Dominus Blackwell," she acknowledged, recognising the smirk from a newspaper picture she had seen.

"Mrs Weasley," he bowed his head down ever so slightly, in the most insulting way possible. "I suspect you are familiar with muggle history."Hermione did not know what to expect so she just kept quiet, looking at Dominus as if he were to jump on her and murder her any minute. Every now and then she would steal glances at her children to see Rose shaking and crying while Hugo was buried half in her arms. When he comprehended Hermione was not to respond, Blackwell resumed talking: "Well, if you are indeed aware of muggle history, then you must know how they used to execute those perceived as witches and wizards. You see...we thought that if we make the executions public, like show trials, then the people will learn what shall happen to them if they commit Category One Magical Offences. Such an educational law..."

"So you will get rid of anyone who opposes Voldemort's return by burning them at the stake?" Hermione spat the words out and looked at Dominus Blackwell as if he were the most disgusting and insignificant insect crawling at her feet.

"Indeed," he replied with a smirk that sickened Hermione and set Hugo in loud, incoherent sobs. "...such adorable children. They will have such a shock seeing you in flames, Mrs Weasley, will they not?" His diabolic voice, made Rose shout at him: "NO!" Dominus ignored her.

Before he could open his mouth again and let out poisonous words fit for stabbing the soul, the door opened and the dark figure of yet another Death Eater walked in with small piece of yellowing parchment. The room was so dark that it was hard to see Blackwell's features properly when he read the note, yet by the way his eyebrows furrowed and eyes darkened, Hermione could vaguely guess he was slightly angry.

"Well, Mrs Weasley, it seems as if our little interrogation will have to take place tomorrow morning after all. And if things go accordingly, we shall plan the execution by noon. Isn't that lovely? You don't even have to wait too much for death." He gave her his special, evil smirk and then went out leaving the remaining Weasleys with a masked and hooded Death Eater. This one didn't speak and Hermione moved to Rose and Hugo to hug them and promise them, despite the fact that she didn't believe it, that everything will be okay.

Their salvation came only a few hours later when the door to the interrogation room burst open, and before the Death Eater could react, another hooded figure sent a very powerful jinx right in his chest sending him flying across the room, until he hit a wall and fell down unconscious.

"Come, quick, we don't have much time!" The new Death Eater removed his mask, revealing the Weasley chocolate eyes and freckles that contrasted the red short hair coming out from under the hood.

"Uncle Percy!" Hugo shouted and was about to jump on Percy Weasley when Hermione stopped him and told him to be quiet.

"How did you know?" Hermione was so revealed that she burst into small sobs. She followed Percy out of the interrogation room, carefully stepping over another jinxed Death Eater.

"I've been forced to work for them. I have a list of all the people on the interrogation list and I try to get out as many as I can. I mean...after the private execution of last week of the last Adviser for the Minister, Linegreen, I have sworn to do everything I can to...to... stop this nonsense, even if I have to..."

"Thank you," she whispered, following him across a small, dark corridor filled with old books, preventing him from saying something too terrible in front of Rose and Hugo. Besides...Percy seemed close to tears. "Ginny managed to get out with the kids."

"Thank Merlin! They made me Oblliviate everyone else in the family..." He caught his breath for a moment and then continued, "I can't come with you. Hermione, follow this corridor and then turn left. There's a door that only opens with a password. The Death Eaters don't know about the existence of this corridor just yet, but if they find out you're missing they'll look for you everywhere. I have to go back and act as if nothing happened for as long as I can. It's the only way you'll have enough time to get out. Once you're out, hide along the smallest and darkest streets of Knockturn alley. They never look where it's obvious. I will come for you as quick as I can and help you to get out of the country. I think there's a way to get you off the interrogation list for a few minutes so that you can disapparate. The password is _Dumbledore's Phoenix._ Go!" He hugged her and the kids tightly and turned away from the dark corridor to resume his place in his office. "Thank you so much." Hermione whispered after him and hurried Rose and Hugo down the narrow, dark corridor.

Once they were out of the Ministry of Magic, they walked quickly and quietly towards Knockturn alley. If they walked fast enough, it would only take them fifteen minutes. Hermione did not even use Lumos to light their way. This was their only chance to escape and they had to do so with the biggest precaution. The night September winds were getting so cold that when a heavy rain prevailed over them, their teeth were clenching and unclenching so fast, that they were afraid it will give them away. But the streets were completely deserted and there were no lights in the shop windows.

Once on Knockturn alley they managed to hide on the smallest and darkest alleyway, and Hermione didn't care for the cold rain falling on them like a hail of silver bullets. They were safer than they had ever been that day and hugging her children as close as possible to keep them away from the consuming cold, she allowed herself to fall into the comfort of an uncomfortable sleep, her back against the cold stone wall.

She abruptly woke up to the sound of approaching footsteps stepping in small puddles of water. The rain had stopped, but the cold was sharper, biting at her and her kid's flesh like a piranha in a cold ocean. She could no longer feel her fingers. But it was so dark that it was almost impossible to see anything in front of her. The footsteps were growing louder and louder as a person turned the corner towards the dark alleyway where they were hiding. She was glad the children were still asleep otherwise more than one person's heavy breathing would have given them away. But the footsteps were coming directly towards them, and that was when Hermione understood the person knew exactly where they were and who they were. She reached for the wand in her pocket, but before she could raise it in the direction of the mysterious person, the lumos light coming from the opposite wand blinded her for a few seconds. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Draco Malfoy. She gasped, pointing her wand at him.

"I'm not going back to the Ministry! You and you Death Eater friends will have to drag me there!" She felt stupid for saying that, but the desperation in her voice had caught up with her fear and her voice became slightly shaky. She felt as if there was no way out.

"You would presume I work with them, wouldn't you Granger?" His voice, although much deeper than in their school years, had the same sarcastic touch to it. When he spoke, Rose woke up and gasped at the face of the man she saw at the funeral. But she said nothing. Hugo was still sleeping in his mother's comfortable arms and made no sign of any acknowledgement that he knew what was going on.

"Weasley," she corrected. "I'm a Weasley now, and it's most natural I would perceive you work with them, Malfoy." The poison in her voice made him give out a small laugh.

"You're still a Granger to me." He smiled a little and then looked down at the sight of the Muggleborn encyclopaedia girl he used to despise at Hogwarts. "But I can assure you I do not work for them."

Hermione only held the wand higher, right in his face. "Prove it!"

Draco looked at her in a slightly amused way, and the lifted up his dark sleeve to reveal a pink scar in relief, in the form of a skull swallowing a sneak. "The Dark Mark becomes a scar when you are no longer one of them. Mine became a scar the minute I couldn't kill Dumbledore."

"That doesn't prove anything," she said in a cold voice looking at Lucius Malfoy's mirror image.

"We both know it does, Granger. If I would even consider joining them, the Dark Mark would return." He looked at her dirty face and the blue skin tones of her kids, and could not help feeling slightly sorry for them. Even the bruises on her jaw looked painful and he hated the idea of any Death Eater torturing a woman, however guilty she may be. If he were a Death Eater, he would not humiliate her. Not even a mudblood. He would just kill them straight away. "Look, Granger, if you want to live, you have to come with me, and you have to come with me now."

"I would never do that, Malfoy." She was still holding her wand towards him, however, it was not pointed to his face any more...it was slightly down as if she was considering the fact that he changed. But then she mentally slapped herself and considered the possibility impossible. She pointed her wand at his face again.

"Look," he said and Hermione was slightly shocked at the determination and annoyance in his voice. "They've found out you have escaped and they are already looking for you. There are a dozen of them coming towards Knockturn alley and they are set on killing you tomorrow morning without a trial. You either come with me now, or you die!"

Hermione kept silent. Rose and Hugo were looking at Draco Malfoy with big, wondering eyes. When Draco would look at Rose, she would bow down her eyes. For some strange reason, she found it hard to look into his pale, grey eyes.

"How do I know you won't take us back there?"

"Because believe it or not, just like you I don't want them to bring Voldemort back," he said in a determined voice trying to penetrate through her stubborn and emotionless mask.

"I'm waiting for Percy."

"Percy is dead, Granger! They've found out he helped you." Before Hermione, Hugo or Rose could gasp, they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The Death Eaters. They quickly stood up from the cold stone floor, Hermione hugging Rose and Hugo tighter.

"Why are you doing this?" Hermione looked at Draco and tried to find a reason. But his face showed no emotion and she couldn't see anything in his eyes.

"Merlin's bloody beard, Granger, we don't have time. Do you want to bloody live?" Hermione nodded, as the Death Eater footsteps were getting closer at the sound of their voices. "We can't apparate..."

"I have a port key," he said taking out of his pocket a red rose.

"I'll take us back to the Ministry." Draco sensed the desperation in Hermione's voice and reflexively, placed his hands on her shoulders, making her look in his eyes. _"This one_ will work."

There was no hesitation left in her. Once Hermione, Rose, Hugo and Draco touched the red rose, their lungs were deprived of air as the dark alleyway circled around them dissolving everything solid into a misty, unclear space vision. Two places were compressed together and when they next opened their eyes and took in a breath of fresh, cold air, they found themselves at the gates of Malfoy Manor, following the salvation of an old enemy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four—Malfoy Manor**

**Date: September 2013**

The sun rays were just beginning to caress the green hills of Wiltshire as the darkness of the night took away the shadows that are alien to morning. There was a thin layer of dew over the grass and leaves and for a moment it seemed as if autumn had not yet reached that part of England. There was no trace of any human activity...only a sea of green hills in the light of an orange sunlight. Dew made the hills seem half frozen if one looked across the vastness of green, and the grand mansion laying at the foot of a small hill appeared almost natural to eye.

And yet when the Port Key threw three Weasleys and one Malfoy across the cold, wet hill, Malfoy Manor was the first solid object Rose Weasley cast her eyes upon and even though it was the first time in her short life she glanced upon such a grand building, she knew it was bound to be tied to her life for a long, long time.

"Malfoy Manor?" Hermione's voice broke the layer of quietness that was familiar to every morning. "You've brought us to Malfoy Manor?" The disbelief and slight annoyance in her voice made Draco raise his eyebrows and the sarcasm in his voice followed by a small smirk showed just how much he enjoyed annoying her.

"Good observation skills, Granger. And what would that be, over there, I wonder?" he asked pointing towards an empty green hill.

"Stop it, Malfoy! You're crazy if you even think that I am going to take one step in that—"

"You're free to do whatever you want, Granger. I've brought you here, I've done my job. You're welcome to come with me if you want, but if you're stupid enough to decline the offer than feel free to go back." With that, he gave her one last look and started making his way, as one would walk along a boulevard on a pleasant autumn morning, towards his home.

Hermione looked towards the tall figure of the boy—_man_ she once hated as he was casually making his way towards the place where she had been tortured by his own aunt all those years ago. She shivered, but even if he was at a rather long distance from the place where she was standing, she saw him turning his head towards her.

"Mommy?" Hermione looked down at Hugo, hugging himself and shivering. He had heavy purple bags under his eyes and his nose was red and shiny. She placed a hand on his forehead and was not surprised to see he was burning with a fever. "I'm cold," he continued tagging at her jumper.

Hermione looked back towards Draco who was now even further away from where she was standing. "Can we go in the big house with Mister Draco?" Hugo's voice seemed somewhat desperate for even a small amount of warmth and she could not help feeling a little of a bad mother. After all, her children were more important than her past perception of an old, annoyingly mean and slightly exasperating classmate. Right? And she trusted him with her heart despite the fact that her mind was giving her danger alerts.

"Can we mommy?" Rose's voice was a mere whisper. She felt cold and she felt hungry. She wanted a bed to sleep in and forget about the fact that her uncle had died as well. She thought of her grandmother...of Molly Weasley and how she must fell to lose yet another son. She closed her eyes and so no way out of the situation that drained them of life. "Please?"She wanted to forget...at least for as long as she was sleeping. Forget about the death of her father, her uncle and the death of her old life. She wanted to forget. And if the blonde man from her father's funeral was the way to forget the pain, simply by offering her new experiences and occurrences that took her mind off that claw that was gripping her heart and making it bleed, then she was ready to accept living in what her mother had called Malfoy Manor. After all it was not as if the sun never rose at there. Or so Rose thought.

"Come on." Hermione took both Hugo and Rose's hands and they started following the footsteps of the man that offered them salvation.

Hand in hand, the three Weasleys made their way through the coiling gates of the Malfoy domain. Rose looked at the gravel path, neatly arranged and contrasted by the well kept, tall, green bushes on either side. The sunrays were covering the grand building before them in a warm and orange light that made it seems as if grand lamps were alight in every room of the house, making orange flames illuminate the windows. She was faced with a paradox...how could an ancient gothic building full of frightening magic that she could never dream of, seem like the warmest and most welcoming place she had seen since living home? She felt a little as if she were walking along a long and tiring corridor, leading her perhaps to the greatest unknown of her 7 year old life. And yet she did not feel frightened. The prominent smell of roses bathed her soul in a vast sea of tranquillity. She breathed the scent in, not knowing where it came from, afraid that she will perhaps never smell something so beautiful again.

When they reached the house, Rose felt more intimidated. It seemed much taller and bigger than when looked at from a distance and there were dark shadows in every corner, as if something unexpected might jump at them. She tightened her grip around Hermione's hand and moved herself closer. The porch was just as grand as the rest of the house. It beheld several plant pots with flora Rose never encountered before. And yet there, among all the strange bushes and carnivorous plants, was a small pot full of blood red roses. She acknowledged the smell and wondered how something so small could make such a huge front garden smell so prominently. Once her eyes moved away from the variety of plants, she saw Draco, leaning leisurely against one of the stone cold walls of his mansion. His arms were folded and he looked so pensive that he reminded Rose of the statue of the sad man she often saw in the park when Dad used to take her in the weekends. He looked as if he had expected them...as if he knew all along that they would come, despite Hermione's clear reluctance.

"Took your time, Granger."He moved away from the wall and made his way towards them, holding a green leaf in his hand and playing with it as if bored.

"Weasley. My name is Hermione Weasley." Rose sensed a little annoyance in her mother's voice, yet her voice remained cool and clear. She could not understand why she was not acting a little more grateful to the man that saved them from the scary looking hooded figures, but decided not to question the ghosts of her mother's past too much.

"Right," he said dismissively and then proceeded talking. "I see you decided to take up my offer after all. Wise choice," he said looking straight into Hermione's eyes. She looked away.

"Why did you save us, Malfoy?" The suspicion in her voice still drove her train of thought and she seemed almost angry to Rose. But Draco knew her slightly better, even though they've spent most of their school years cursing each other. And so for the first time since their arrival on the Malfoy Domain, he pulled a straight face.

"You really want me to say it here, Granger?" he asked looking at her face as one would look at a complicated puzzle.

"Yes."

He seemed slightly less certain in his manner than before, and Rose wondered whether she saw embarrassment over his face. At seven years of age she still did not fully understand the characteristics of human feelings, yet the fact that she possessed her mother's ability to think, made her slightly smarter than the average seven year old. Anyway, she was clever enough to sense that Draco Malfoy was slightly embarrassed by her mother's question.

"15 years ago, " he started, looking at Hermione's face with serious eyes, "Harry Potter and Ron Weasley returned in The Room of Requirement which was swallowed by flames, to save a stupid little boy who couldn't find his way out and who had previously tried to kill them. He had been their enemy for the past seven years of his life, plotting against them and acting like a total idiot, and yet they returned for him. They could have died, and yet they returned to save an old enemy. The boy will be forever indebted to them, and the only way that he will ever be able to repay them for saving his life, if through taking care of what's left of their families." His grey eyes never once left Hermione's dark brown orbs, and in the end the latter looked down.

"You are the boy?" Hugo's eyes were wide. Ron had never told him much about his years at Hogwarts, and if he truly went back in a room swallowed by flames to save someone, he was definitely the best wizard Hugo had ever met. If he were at home, he would have ripped off the poster he had of Great Tibius, the fire warrior from his sticker book, and instead put a picture of his dad on the wall. But he wasn't at home.

"Yes," replied Draco and then turned his attention back to Hermione.

"If you want to help us," she started, "then get us out of the country."

"And where, may I ask, would you want to go?" The sarcasm was back in Draco's voice and Hermione's eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

"Italy."

"Impossible."

"Why?"

"Why? Because they've bloody contoured the entire outline of the country, so that if anyone on the Interrogation list tries to get out, Death Eaters, or Ministry Officials, as they prefer to call them now, will Apparate and...Considering it's you, they'll probably kill you on the spot."

"So what do you suggest I do?"

"Follow me." With that he, started walking towards the main entrance of Malfoy Manor, leaving Hermione close to fuming. In the end, she had no choice but to follow her old arch nemesis, as if through a portal that would take her to the greatest unknown of her life, as soon as she walked through the main entrance of Draco's home.

The main entrance door was made of heavy mahogany wood, and silver serpents coiled around its margins, as if the mansion were the home of Salazar Slytherin himself. Rose felt as if she were walking through the gates of a castle rather than someone's home. She though back at her own front door, that normal, wooden door fit for a normal sized house. No coiling serpents, no silver doorknobs. It seemed universes away. Draco held the door for them, and as soon as they came inside the manor, they were greeted by a huge hallway decorated in elegant, Victorian style. But the six set of Weasley eyes did not set on the green and silver carpet, nor on the well polished furniture, but on the paintings of Malfoy ancestors that hung heavy on the stone walls. The family line seemed to go years and years and years back, almost to the founders of Hogwarts themselves. There were people Hermione came across in various history books, all concerned with the Dark Arts. Abraxas Malfoy, Draco's grandfather was hanging proudly and arrogantly in one of the most recent paintings, holding a book and looking curiously at the new guests. His hair was the same shade of blond that Draco possessed, yet his eyes seemed sharper...perhaps holding more prejudice. Next to him, a portrait of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, this one just a regular painting, was perhaps the biggest of all paintings, decorating at least half of the wall. Lucius' head was proudly up. One of his hands was on his wife's shoulder as she was sitting down in an armchair, looking splendidly beautiful and making every woman on earth jealous, while Lucius' other hand was as per usual, secured on his snake headed cane. Hermione got a cold feeling running down her spine as she looked at those who perceived her as lower than a crawling bug at their feet. She wanted to take the kids and run back out of the doors, but where would she go? She hated to admit it, but Draco's home seemed the safest option she had so far.

"This way," said Draco guiding them down a set of stone stairs, towards what seemed to be the dungeon. Although a green and silver carpet was running along the narrow, long corridor, there was no furniture along the walls, nor any paintings and the dungeon hallway seemed particularly cold and impersonal. From time to time, Rose would look up at the tall, blonde figure walking in front of her, wondering whether he had a family, or if he lived all by himself in the big, ancient, cold house.

"Mommy, where are we going?" asked little Hugo, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "I'm tired", he continued, wining.

"Just a little more, honey," she responded but just before she could give him a small encouraging smile, her skin complexion turned a rather unpleasant shade of yellow, and after placing one hand on the wall, she vomited on the stone floor at her feet.

"Granger, what the fu—" Draco's face beheld a mixture of surprise and disgust. He looked at the scruffy looking encyclopaedia woman, then at her scruffy kids and then at the mess on the carpet. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing." She replied quickly as her cheeks burned a very bright shade of red. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and looked at Draco a little ashamed. "Indigestion."

"But you haven't eaten anything. How can you-"

"I'm just tired. That's all. I'm..._sorry_," she said at last although it seemed as if she were ashamed to apologise to him. She placed a hand over her flat womb and mentally kicked herself for not taking more nausea precautions before she left home, especially now that she was pregnant. She looked at Draco who looked slightly confused and she wondered what his reaction would if he were to find out she was bearing another child. Probably not such a good one. She decided to keep it a secret for as long as possible and made a mental note to remind the kids as well to not say anything.

"Mommy is it the—"

"Yes Rosie, it's that indigestion I've had for the past few days. Must have been that dinner..."Rose looked confused, for she could not remember her mother suffering from any form of indigestion, and the tone of voice seemed quite awkward as well.

"But..."persisted Rose, looking up at her mother with big, confused eyes.

"Bloody hell, Granger, can we move on? I don't particularly enjoy having a conversation next to your..._biological mess_." For once, Hermione welcomed Draco's impatience as she hurried the kids further down the corridor. She heard Draco saying something about having to send house elves to clean the mess up, but after that comment he ceased talking to himself.

"Here," he said, opening a modest looking wooden door at the far end of the corridor. "You'll stay in here."

There was only one candle inside, the room, illuminating it enough for Hermione to realise there were no windows. But the room was still rather beautiful, for a room in the dungeon. There was a big, king size bed with green covers, a large desk with various papers placed neatly on it and a decent looking wardrobe. Not that they had anything with them. The stone floor was carpeted by a small black rug and at the far end of the room was another door, which she presumed would lead to the bathroom. She felt slightly intimidated...after all, all she had in her basement were old boxes, spider webs and some of Ron's old Quidditch sets. Definitely no king size bed...no desk and no rugs.

"Well walk in. I haven't got all day, Granger."Hermione guided the kids inside, as Draco followed in and closed the door behind him. Rose got the feeling that he did not really want anyone to find out about their existence within the manor just yet.

Hugo's lids were half closed and he made his way, zombie mod to the bed. Once he placed his head on the pillow, he fell asleep, forgetting everything about the place and situation he was in. Upon the feature, Draco's hard features softened a little, as if he were remembering a little boy of his own, but once he looked back at Hermione, his eyes regained their cold stare and his eyebrows furrowed back together.

"This is the plan, Granger. I can't keep you here for nothing, otherwise people will start suspecting. You are to work with the house elves down in the kitchen and your daughter can help if she pleases, but I don't want children running around the house," he started in a monotone voice as if one were instructing a house keeper of the missions that had to be fulfilled.

"You want me to be your servant?" Hermione's voice was a little surprised, yet beneath that, her anger was rising. "After all your family did to me, you want me to be your servant?"

Draco seemed to be weighting up his words for a moment, but then all he came up with was, "Yes."They stared at each other for a few minutes and then, after rolling his eyes, he added, "It's the only way I can justify your presence here. Don't you know who I am? I'm a Malfoy, Granger! I get all sorts of people in this house. They all believed in pure blood superiority and even though they don't call themselves Death Eaters, that's what they are beneath."

"And you?" The acrimony and poison in Hermione's voice made Rose go towards the bed and lay down next to her little brother, whose breathing had already adopted the heavy sleep mode.

"I've told you already, I will not re-join them. But that does not mean I can escape their company. Everyone knows who my father is...was."

"He died?"The surprise in Hermione's voice made Draco let out a small laugh.

"No, he's not dead. Just no longer one of them. He's..._changed._"

"Right," said Hermione in a rather disbelieving voice.

"Look, there's nowhere else you'd be safe. No one would ever believe I would hide Weasley's wife and kids. A few concealment charms and everything will be fine. You'll have to work for me and my family, but at least you'll be safe. It's your choice, Granger." The look he gave her penetrated her soul. She was sure he read all her fear and pain, down to the very roots. She felt naked before him, as if he could read her every emotion. She looked away.

"Okay."

"Good. You start this evening...you can umm...rest for now and I'll come back in a few hours to introduce you to my wife as the new servant. She doesn't know who you are and let's keep it that way for now. Make sure you conceal yourself before. Then you may begin in the kitchen with the house elves while your daughter can help the others clean. Don't give me that judging look, Granger. I'm offering you an escape. What did you expect? That you'll stay here like in a hotel?"

"I don't want my daughter to go through this," she said in a determined voice, looking at the bed where Rose seemed to have fallen asleep.

"Like I said, she can stay the whole day in this room with her brother. I suspect she'll choose to work...her brother is too young, but she'll get bored. And I don't want a scene."Hermione said nothing more. She just looked up at Draco's pale face and blue eyes...one would think it was an angelic look, but she knew better.

"I guess that's it. Be ready in four hours." With that, he elegantly turned around and started making his way towards the door. But before he went out, he heard his name coming from Hermione's lips. He turned his head around, to hear her say a shy and small "thank you". He nodded once and made his way out, closing the door behind him. Once outside, he lingered for a few seconds at the door before removing some particularly annoying thoughts from his head and making his way back down the dungeon corridor.

Hermione did not go to lie in the bed like her children. She made her way to the bathroom instead, splashed water over her face and then she couldn't control the tears any longer for they came in vast numbers, conquering her cheeks. "Oh Ron..."she cried, "Why? Why you? Why us?" She cried and cried, until there were no tears left. Then she sat down on the toilet and caught her head in her hands. Never in her life did she imagine she would come to be Draco Malfoy's servant. How could she even believe that he could offer her safety? How could she really trust him? She felt blinded by some bigger desperation that made her act without using her head. But then again...what if he was her only hope of salvation? What if, he was the one, who would one day get them all to Italy? What if?

Outside the bathroom, in the dungeon room that was now their home, Rose Weasley lay awake in bed, trying to ignore her mother's desperate cries in the bathroom. She tried to picture Ron, laying next to her on the bed and caressing her forehead, like he always did to make her fall asleep when she was upset. She wanted him to be alive...wanted him to be well more than anything. One single tear escaped her eye and fell on the mattress beneath her with a silent thud. She would cry later. She was like a rain cloud, letting out one droplet of rain just to ease the tension before throwing a shower on a nearby village, where the wind would take it.

Astoria Greengrass Malfoy was sitting in her usual armchair, drinking her morning coffee and casting her eyes upon the Daily Prophet. On the side table of the drawing room in which she always liked to spend early mornings, lay a couple of French croissants, placed there less than half an hour before by Melvyn, the Malfoy house elf in charge. Upon hearing her husband enter the room, she placed the newspaper on the side table and looked at him half expecting something grand to escape his lips about some untold adventure. The latter sat down in the opposite chair, gave his wife a small smile and proceeded reading his own copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Well?" she asked in a slightly angered voice. Draco lifted his eyes from the newspaper and looked at her as one would look at a rare piece of furniture which suddenly started talking. "Where were you last night?"

"I had some business in town and then I had to drop in Gringrotts," he answered lazily and then resumed reading his newspaper.

"In the middle of the night?" Astoria was not stupid. She could not understand why her husband would go into the climax of the night to visit the bank, when the bank was closed. He was not having an affair—she was certain of it for he was still wholly devoted to her in the passionate hours of darkness when their bodies took control of their minds. And he loved her still. She could feel it and she was rarely mistaken about such things. "But the bank is closed at night."

Draco lifted his eyes from the newspaper once more and this time, upon seeing his wife's perplexed expression, placed it on the nearby side table. "I don't think you completely understand the implications of my name, Astoria. If somebody mentions the name "Malfoy" to a wand maker who is about to close his shop, then he reconsiders. He gets a house elf to dust the place off and awaits the arrival of perhaps, one of his biggest clients of the week. If I have business in Gringrotts, the goblins will reopen the bank. They know who I am and they certainly know what I am capable of."The intensity of his grey eyes upon her face was enough to make the latter look away. Satisfied with her reaction, Draco took out of his pocket a small leather pack of precisely 100 gold Galleons. He placed them on top of the newspaper and resumed talking, "I figured out what I will buy Scorpius for his 8th birthday. It's only in Diagon Alley for a limited amount of time and I only remembered last night. I will make the acquisition later today. Feel free to accompany me if you want."

Astoria smiled. She could not help but smile. Yes, it was true that there were times when she wanted to slap her husband into oblivion, yet their marriage could not be perfect. Whose was? She stood up and, gathering her silk robe around her frail silhouette, she went and kissed his forehead. "I didn't doubt you. I just missed you," she whispered in his ear.

Draco wanted to contradict her yet he knew better than to do that. He did not want to create an argument so early in the morning. His hand automatically embraced his wife's waist as he drew her closer. But while he was doing this, he could not help thinking on the dirty faced encyclopaedia woman down in the dungeon and her scruffy children with dirty nails.

"We've got new servants."

Rose didn't like the look on Mrs Malfoy's face. She felt as if she were a piece of dirt under a very sophisticated microscope. She felt her mother rather tensed behind her and Hugo was holding her hand, while at the same time swinging his foot from left to right. After mouthing a "stop it" to her little brother, her attention went back on Mr and Mrs Malfoy who were looking at them as if they were slaves ready for sale.

"What did you say your names were again?" Astoria's green silk dress, made Hermione feel very bad about her muggle jeans and her fine brown hair made her own look like an uncontrollable bush.

"I'm Anna Welloby and this is my daughter Rosie and son Harry. I am looking for a long term job and—"

"I didn't ask you that. Just your names." The acrimony in Mrs Malfoy's voice made Rose cringe and she felt her mother's grip around her hand tighten.

"They showed up early this morning. Their home was set on fire and they have nowhere to go, but since we need new servants, I figured they would be good candidates." Draco looked slightly uncomfortable as he was standing next to where his wife was sitting, looking most of the time at Hugo, who seemed slightly confused about the entire situation. If the boy "blew it" as was the muggle saying, Draco was not sure how he would explain to his wife the presence of three Weasleys in his home.

"What about Mr Welloby?" asked Astoria looking at Draco, "because I'm sure we need a new gardener?"

"Mr Welloby is dead."Hermione's voice was hard and the mask upon her face was impenetrable. She showed no emotions until then and she certainly did not want to show weakness in front of Astoria. She knew better that that and the entire situation was humiliating enough as it was.

"Oh," was all that Mrs Malfoy said. "Well, you can start right now. Anna, I presume you can cook." Hermione nodded slightly nervously. She could cook, but she was not what one would call brilliant at it. Being the wife of Ronald Weasly had not been very hard, since when it came to food, he never complained, a habit which Hugo also inherited. "While you will be in the dungeon kitchen with the house elves, your daughter can start cleaning the house, and then she can move on to the gardens."

"But I don't know anything about gardening," said Rose in a small voice feeling very intimidated and slightly stupid.

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to!" Astoria's scolding voice was scary and cold. Rose wanted to hide behind her mother, wanted to be protected and taken back to her old life. But as she stood there in the light of Mr and Mrs Malfoy's eyes, she bowed her head, a position she would have to get used to for the many years that were to come. "A house elf will show you what to do. You can observe for a few days and then you can start working. But the cleaning comes first. Understood?"

Rose nodded and then looked back down at her brown shoes. Hermione squeezed her hand and looked at her as if she missed something. "Yes madam," said Rose quickly without looking at the intimidating tall figures before her.

"As for you..." started Astoria looking at Hugo with cold eyes, "You can..."

"Father!" The figure of a blonde little boy with his father's grey eyes ran into the room, holding what Rose recognised as a mini Quidditch broom. "Father, it's broken!" He ran straight up to his father without even acknowledging their presence, holding the broom up to him expectantly as if the latter could fix it just by looking at it.

"Not now, Scorpius!"

"But the game will be on tomorrow morning and I have to practice and..."

"Scorpius!"

The little blonde boy turned around to see the people that his father was facing. "Oh," he said and looked slightly embarrassed. Hermione tried not to laugh. She could not believe just how much Scorpius Malfoy could resemble Draco. The same arrogance...the same proud manner of holding his head. She thought of Ron and how much he would laugh if he were to see the little copy of Draco. And she was so caught up her thoughts that she barely noticed Hugo running towards Scorpius and staring at his broom as if hypnotized. "Wow! Is that...a mini-Nimbus 3000?"He attempted to touch the injured broom, but Scorpius retreated until he bumped into his father.

"Harry come back here at once!" Hermione started walking towards her son and was about to drag him back, but Astoria was faster. She caught the little human by his ear until Hugo started crying from the sharp pain inflicted with cruelty upon him. And without even realising, he started kicking, until he hit something hard. Before he even realised what was happening or why all the adults seemed so angry and shocked, he felt the sharp pain of someone's palm slapping his left cheek. He felt on the floor in big tears and looked towards his mommy, who could not move from the stunned position she was in. Rose was running towards him, Mr Malfoy was saying something to his wife, while holding her upper arm and through his tears, he saw Scorpius Malfoy looking a little ashamed of himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Date: September 2013**

Hermione's gentle hand was caressing Hugo's tear stained cheek, trying to make the sting that constantly pinched his flesh and kept it red, go away. The sobs had quietened, yet his big eyelashes were still wet and stuck together as if with glue, while his big, green eyes were stained by red. His head was resting on Hermione's chest and he had not moved from there since Hermione placed him on her lap and rocked him back and forth to help him forget the incident in the drawing room earlier that morning. Hermione kissed the little boy's curly hair and whispered something in his ear. Upon hearing her soft voice, he lifted his little head from her chest and looked at her wide eyed.

"Really mommy?"

Hermione nodded and gave him a small smile to which he responded. Just to see the little corners of his mouth go up in a small attempt at being optimistic, made her fell surer about what she had in mind. There was no question about leaving, for that was certain. She could not stay in a place where people hurt her children any longer. She felt stupid and reckless for accepting in the first place, and she mentally slapped herself for believing that Draco Malfoy, her school arch nemesis who had often called her a _mudblood_, had changed. The scar on her left arm from all those years ago when Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured her, slitting her flesh with a silver knife...the same instrument that she used to kill Dobby, was still visible. It still spelt out M-U-D-B-L-O-O-D...it still made her feel bad about herself in those lonely moments when she wished her blood were purer. She knew such things did not matter anymore...but they had mattered once. And history was yet again repeating itself. The Ministry on the verge of persecuting muggle-borns. Everything was to happen again. She felt the hands of despair grabbing her from behind. Where would they go now? She knew she could not stay under a Malfoy shelter, no matter how dark it seemed outside, but where else would she go? The Weasley's believed the Daily Prophet stories about her killing Ron...they would report her. Ginny was in Italy and possibly on Blackwell's list as well by now. There was nowhere safe she could go...no one to trust.

"Where will we go?" Rose was sitting opposite them, one hand placed protectively on her little brother's knee. The images of Mrs Malfoy slapping him, and his fall to the stone cold floor were still engraved in her mind. They would be there for a long time...just as if her flesh were marked with burning iron. And she was angry. She was angry at her mother for bringing them there in the first place. She was angry at her father for dying. She was angry at Hugo for having been so silly in the most inappropriate moment and she was angry at herself for thinking poisonous thoughts.

The concealment charms placed on them by Hermione were starting to disappear. Her eyes were no longer green and her hair not as red. The freckles on her cheeks started disappearing and her flesh became paler. "Can we go home?" she asked in a sad voice. Her eyes were getting teary and for once the child monster within her took control of her mind. She no longer tried to be strong and responsible. "I want to go home," and the tears started coming.

"Rosie, come here, honey," said Hermione raising her hand and motioning for her daughter to embrace the hug she offered. But Rose did not move. Her head was bowed down and her hair was covering her face like a curtain concealing the rainy weather outside. She wiped her eyes in an attempt to hide her crying, but her nose gave her away. "Rosie no...It doesn't hurt me anymore. Mommy made it go away...she made it go away. Don't cry." Hugo got up from his mother's lap and went towards his sister, who, for once seemed smaller and more vulnerable than he was. He could not see her face because of the hair that was covering it, but her small sobs were still audible to him, so he did all that he could do in such a situation: he hugged her until she ceased trying to be strong and hugged him tight crying on his shoulder and placing her small hand on hi still burning cheek.

Before Hermione could join the emotional scene before her, there was a hesitant knock on the door which made Rose and Hugo look up and Hermione stand from the bed in an instant. The knock did not persist and she had the feeling that the person outside the room was rather embarrassed. "Umm...come in," she said awkwardly, not knowing what to expect. The door opened and Draco Malfoy walked in, followed by Scorpius who looked anywhere but at Rose and Hugo. His hands were still around that precious broom of his that had caused so much trouble just one clock before.

Draco's eyes ran from Hermione's flushed face to Rose's tear stained eyes and lastly, rested on Hugo's red cheek for a moment, before returning upon Hermione. Scorpius was standing rather awkwardly behind his father, hoping that the latter's height would conceal his presence there. His cheeks were a similar shade of red to Hugo's yet Hermione was sure they burned in a different way. Yet before the boy had the chance to lift his eyes from his broom, she casted a rapid non-verbal concealment charm that made her hair darker, Rose's redder and Hugo's straighter. "What do you want?" she asked in a cold voice when the silence was becoming annoying. Draco's eyes would not leave her face and she felt as if she were once again in the Ministry's interrogation room, the same one from where she helped steal Umbridge's locket all those years ago. Draco did not answer. Instead, his eyes ran to the brown leather rucksack resting on the bed, as if waiting to depart. "We're going, Malfoy. You don't need to bother about us any longer."

For a mere moment, Draco seemed surprised and slightly upset. But then he placed his mask back on his face and looked indifferent. "May I ask where you will go?"

"Anywhere away from here. You do no imagine we shall remain in this place after your wife did that to my son." She took a step forwards and Hugo though she looked a lot like Molly when telling off one of her already grown up kids.

"Yes, well that was what we were here for," said Draco and half dragged Scorpius by his collar in front of him. My son has something to say to Harry. Go on Scorpius," he nudged when the little blonde boy did not look up from the floor. "Scorpius?" Rose shuddered slightly at Mr Malfoy's cold voice. She could not remember her own father ever using that tone on her or on Hugo. In fact...she could not remember her father wearing a similar black suit and living in a grand mansion. Her father seemed universes away.

"Umm...I...am sorry for acting like that about the broom earlier. I...umm...acted wrongly." He did not look at Hugo while presenting his very meaningful apology, but after the words escaped his mouth, he turned a bright shade of red and pretended to be very interested in the green and silver carpet.

"My wife is also..._regretful_ that such an incident took place upon meeting you and she is inquiring if the boy is _okay_."Draco looked straight into Hermione's eyes, yet she still knew he was lying, or at least, if not lying, made the sentence sound nicer than Astoria had intended. "Why does she not tell me that herself?" asked Hermione in a sour voice.

"Because she had to go to out and meet somebody, _Welloby_. Anyway, she also wanted me to tell you that, if you would like, while you and your daughter do your chores, Harry can be a playmate for Scorpius." Draco had not yet finished his sentence when Scorpius' eyes widened and his mouth became an O shape, "What?"

"Quiet, boy!"Draco's voice was severe and rather cold when talking to his son and Hermione could not help feeling a little sorry for him. "We're leaving," she said looking at him cautiously. "This is no place for us."

"I beg to differ, _Gra_—Welloby!" The tone of his voice became slightly louder and angrier. "Outside is no place for you and you know that very well. You will never be able to find shelter or another job after the incidents of the past few days."

"Well, I beg to differ as well, Malfoy." Hermione took another step towards Draco and her finger instinctively went up as if she were telling off one of her children. "I do not intend to remain in this house as long as your wife touches my children like that! And to be honest-"

"Right, come outside Welloby. We need to talk!" Draco opened the door and waited for Hermione to move. But she didn't. She just looked at him as if there would be no greater pleasure than to just murder him. "_Please,"_ he added in a sarcastic voice. Hermione rolled her eyes and followed Draco outside. The adults closed the door behind them, leaving the three children together in the dungeon room, hoping they would not kill each other.

"Granger don't be stupid," whispered Draco once he closed the door, "think of your children. I am truly sorry this thing happened in the morning, and I can assure you it never will again. I spoke to my wife about it and she will try not to lose her temper around Hugo again. She had a rough day yesterday_...I'm sorry_." Hermione's eyes widened for a moment at Draco's apology for it seemed very sincere. "There is nowhere for you to go and Death Eaters are everywhere. They keep recruiting people. It would be very foolish for you not to stay." She could not remember being so close to him. She could smell the aftershave on his freshly shaven face and looking up at him, the few wrinkles around his eyes. His grey eyes were cold and seemed indifferent, but she felt bare before him, as if he could see the depth of her soul and read her deepest and darkest secrets. She blushed and felt stupid for doing so. She blushed and felt as if she were betraying Ron. She blushed and blamed it on the hormonal imbalance caused by her early pregnancy. She looked down as if afraid of his reading the words that were so clearly written on her face.

For the first time since her arrival at Malfoy Manor, Hermione was speechless. She did not understand why Draco seemed so worried about them, but she had to admit he was right. There was nowhere for them to go just yet and she would be acting selfishly and stupidly if she were to leave. "I'm not too sure about the playmate thing," she said feeling slightly angry that she had surrendered at his words, but glad that she would not be endangering her children with the brutality of the outside world.

"Do you not think it would be better for him that staying locked up in a room until you finish your chores?" he asked sarcastically. "It's your call Granger, but why not let him decide?"She nodded ever so slightly and Draco reopened the door to the dungeon room and let Hermione enter before following her. He tried not to laugh at the scene of finding the three children in the exact same positions he had left them in. Scorpius was still glued to the carpet and his eyes looking at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen. At the same time, the Weasley children were staring at him as if he were a carnivorous plant about to devour them. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder and the little blonde boy looked relieved at the return of his father.

"When are we going mommy?" asked Rose wiping away her tears. "We are going to stay here a little longer, honey. I'm afraid we can't leave at the moment." Rose looked from her mother to Draco and her eyes filled with tears yet again. She said nothing else, but bowed her head down, letting her hair conceal her face and hide her despair. She felt Mr Malfoy's eyes burn her. The tears were rolling down from her cheeks to her chin, and then like young birds, flew from her face for the first time, only to be met by the inability to fly. The droplets fell on her lap with a quiet thud, as she wiped her eyes. She felt trapped.

"Harry, honey, how would you like to be Scorpius' playmate while mommy and Rosie work?" Hermione hoped will all her heart that Hugo would decline Draco's offer, but the little boy said nothing for a while. He looked at the older boy before him and his clenched hands holding the broken broom. Could he really be friends with someone who hated him? He could try...or he could just stay in his room and be bored. He remembered the Tom and Jerry incident at the breakfast table. It seemed years away. Would he risk a fall for a price? If he could become friends with Scorpius Malfoy, then he had days and days of games and playing with luxurious toys. If not, he would die trying, like a Dragon knight falling through the air. His daddy died like that. He needed to make Ron proud. He needed to try. "Okay," he said in a small voice, hoping that he made the smartest decision in all his five years of living.

Scorpius tried not to groan. His father's hard hand upon his shoulder was a reminder to be on his best behaviour or else he would suffer the consequences. "Scorpius, why don't you show Harry to your room? And be nice," he warned. Scorpius lifted his blue eyes from the floor and looked at the young child before him. What if he were to break something? What if he stole one of his collection dragons? He hated to keep an eye on a servant toddler. But what choice did he have? He could not go against his father's instructions. He remembered the consequences the last time it happened and he did not need a reminder. But then his eyes ran for a moment to the curtain of red hair concealing the girl's face. He had not seen her face properly, but he wished she could have been assigned to be his playmate instead. She seemed smarter and more careful...less likely to break something. Could he really trust the Harry boy servant to put away all his toys after finishing playing? And what was the servant to do while he flew the broom? Surely he was too young to fly even a mini-broom and it was not as if Scorpius would ever allow him to touch his injured precious, even if his father wanted him to apologise.

"Go on," urged Draco giving him a severe look.

"Come," said Scorpius in a cold voice. With one glance towards his worried mother, Hugo followed the older boy outside the room, like a lamb ready for slaughter.

"You can go to the kitchen Granger. I have instructed Melvyn, the chief house elf to tell you what to do. I will be taking Rose upstairs where she will meet Dolores, the house elf in charge of the garden to instruct her of her chores." Hermione could not help rising her eyebrows at the name Draco chose for his house elf. So now she knew that he too, despised Umbridge in their fifth year, even though he pretended to worship her. She could not help wondering how much of Draco Malfoy she actually knew. Was he really the spoiled Umbridge loving boy he portrayed himself to be?

As if reading her mind, Draco offered a small smirk and said "We all had to survive fifth year somehow, Granger. I despised the woman."

With that, Hermione gave Rose a small smile and squeezed her hand in encouragement before leaving for the kitchens. Yet in her heart, despite the fact that Draco Malfoy proved to be their chance of survival, she could not help feeling being entangled in a sticky spider web where her kids were the next meal for a Malfoy predator.

Walking besides a teary and small Rose Weasley, Draco could not help feeling slightly awkward. It was true that he had a child of his own, Scorpius, who often got teary and childish; however there was something strangely mature in the little girl's manner. Thus words failed him and silence seemed the best option he could choose to deal with the little girl's sniffles and trembling lower lip, at least until they reached the main level of the house, where the sunlight would reassure him that Rose was indeed a little girl.

Rose also shared the alienating feeling of awkwardness as she walked next to Mr Malfoy through the coiling, dark dungeons. She hated the aftermath of a storm...when her nose was runnier than usual and eyes red. She hated the fact that the storm residing within her made her weak and vulnerable when, for the sake of her mother and little brother, she had to stand through the storm without getting wet. She wondered whether Hugo was enjoying himself more than she did. It was true that she loved the little curly haired monster more than anything in the whole wide world, but she could not help feeling a surge of jealousy towards him. He got to play while she had to work. How was that fair? Couldn't Mr Malfoy have assigned him the task of helping his sister in the garden since they were both clueless about how to tend bushes and feed carnivorous plants?

The tall man and little girl veered left and went up a flight of stone steps covered by a simple green carpet leading to the main floor. Already the air was warmer and the goose bumps on Rose's arms started disappearing. The light coming from the French windows illuminated the hallway and made the furniture come to life in different shades, as if waking up from a dreamless, cold sleep. Rose looked around properly for the first time since her arrival at Malfoy Manor at the grandness of the mansion and all that rested within it. And the more she looked, the more she felt like a dirty chimney child who just stained some sort of angel's immaculate palace. Or maybe, more accurately, like a dirty crow among white peacocks, for, Rose thought, an angel could not be married o an elegant devil who slapped her little brother. It took Rose a few minutes to snap out of her overgrown imagination and realise that Draco was eyeing her expectantly.

"I'm sorry," she said automatically, but Draco did not seem to be annoyed at the fact that she was not listening to him. In that warm sunlight, the blueness of his eyes was so prominent, that Rose felt as if she were drowning in some far away oriental blue ocean without an end. "I didn't hear you," she continued looking down at the light marble floor.

"You see that terrace door over there?" he asked pointing towards one of the French windows that stood half open, allowing the breeze to play with the white silk curtains and make them dance together. Rose nodded. "Outside is a small garden with various flower pots. I want you to go there and wait for Geon, the gardener house elf, to instruct you of your chores. Every morning, I want you to report to him until you finish tending to all of the veranda gardens, and then you can move on to the big ones, but I imagine you will not be finishing the small ones until at least next week."

Draco looked down at the little red haired girl with hazel eyes, at her soft childish features washed by sadness and, for a minute wondered if he treated her too much like an adult. But there was something in her eyes that reassured him she had understood. It would take Draco years to decipher that particular look in her eyes. But Rose just nodded, mumbled a "yes sir" and headed towards the veranda door.

"Rose?" The little girl turned her head around to look at Mr Malfoy, now standing a few feet away from her in the sunlight. "Be careful with the carnivorous plants," he said and without another word disappeared through the wooden doors of some room Rose didn't know, leaving her there even more nervous than she had been before.

Hermione's hair resembled very much one of the overgrown bushes Rose had to tend to. After various attempts at placing it in a neat bun using that muggle brown hair-band that always rested on her left wrist, she remembered she had a wand and spellbound it in a neat ponytail to keep it out of her eyes, mentally slapping herself for not thinking of using her magic stick before.

The grand kitchens of Malfoy Manor were spectacular. There were various wooden tables which beheld various ingredients Hermione recognised from her own kitchen, but also some she saw in those expensive cookery boutiques on Diagon Alley, which she never dreamt of stepping in. There were various tall cupboards which she didn't open, but was sure would contain magnificent silverware and china plates with gold foil on the margin. She snorted at the _malfoyness_ of the place. There were tall candles in nearly every corner of the kitchen, illuminating the place so that she and the house elves could see what they were actually doing. There was also natural light coming from magical windows of a small garden outside. Hermione always loved magical architecture, because even if the kitchens were located in the depths of the Malfoy dungeons, there were still ways to give it small windows and sunlight.

That particular morning, the kitchen was extremely busy and encapsulated by hundredths of smells and aromas that drove Hermione's senses wild. This was one of those times when Hermione was utterly annoyed with being pregnant, especially as she found herself in one of those situations when she had to make a good first impression on her fellow house elves. For the past half an hour since she had entered the Malfoy Kitchens, all of the round eyes belonging to the little wrinkled creatures had resided on her. Even when she was politely given the task to cut some garlic, Melvin, the chief house elf constantly stared at her hand just to make sure she didn't cut one of her fingers instead. It seemed as if they could not believe, despite the fact that she told them so with her own mouth, that she _had_ cooked before on numerous occasions. But they still insisted it was unlikely, since all the wizardry families owned house elves to do the cooking and cleaning and all the other less desirable everyday chores. When she mentioned to them, that she believed in the rights of house elves, they started at her as one would look at a dog claiming to be a cat.

"Melvin kindly asks you to make haste with the garlic sauce, Madam," said Melvin attempting to give Hermione, or Anna as they all knew her by, a small smile. He didn't particularly like the human, but it was in the code of elves to be respectful with beings considered more advanced than themselves.

"Melvin, you know you can just call me Anna..." started Hermione but all set of house elf eyes turned upon her once more as if she said something incredibly delirious.

"Melvin cannot do that madam. Melvin was taught to respect higher blood creatures. You must not make Melvin break his vows." The house elf looked a little intrigued at the new kitchen human. She did not cast her eyes upon him and his fellow house elves as if they were inferior beings. He even saw her smiling once or twice at some younger members of his house elf kitchen clan.

"There's no such thing as higher blood, Melvin. That's just pure-blood ideology that you must not listen to if..." but she stopped in the middle of the sentence, as all the house elves in the kitchen came around her, much like primary school children around an intriguing new teacher.

"You must not say things like these around here, Madam," said a female house elf, dressed in a worn out purple pillow case with a matching small bow placed by her ear. "If master heard you talk of such things, he would punish you." Hermione tried not to smirk at the images that entered her mind of the ways in which Draco Malfoy could _punish _her, but, upon remembering who she was and what her purpose there was, she abruptly pushed the thoughts out of her head and became horrified at what her mind was sometimes capable of creating. She blushed to a deep crimson colour before looking at Melvin, who seemed even more intrigued at her alien reactions than before.

"Master Malfoy has been very kind to Melvin and his friends," said the house elf, resting slightly on his wooden walking stick, his white hair sticking up and reminding Hermione a little of a house elf version of Dumbledore. "He offered us shelter in the Malfoy Dungeons when our village up in the east burned down. Master has been very kind! All we are required to do is to serve three generations of the Malfoy family." He placed a little trembling hand of Hermione's elbow for he could reach no higher and continued, "Melvin asks you to respect Master Malfoy too, Madam."

Hermione felt a little taken aback. She knew house elves respected their masters, no matter how cruel their masters were. But Melvin seemed to exercise something more than respect towards Draco...affection maybe? "Shall we get back to work then, Melvin?" she asked, wishing the little creatures would just stop staring at her. She needed time to think of how Draco must have bewitched these poor house elves to worship him.

"Certainly Madam," said Melvin and with one arm, seemed to be pushing a younger looking house elf towards a little door that Hermione presumed led to their headquarters. "But...but, Melvin, she knew...she knew..."

"Not now, Jinxy. Not now," said the older house elf, guiding the younger, female house elf towards the doors. "I'm sure it was her!"persisted the younger house elf. "She knew Dobby! It's all the drawings Dobby left behind...I'm sure it was her!"

"You're confusing her with someone else!" whispered Melvin, in a harsher voice. We don't know anything about this human...now stop it!" Jinxy seemed to have given up, and with one last look towards Hermione, she disappeared through the small door.

Hermione's mind was working at full speed, half concentrating on the dish she had to prepare and half on the Jinxy house elf who just recognised her. She was unsure whether to take the house elf's recognition as a threat or not, but if indeed Jinxy had known Dobby, then she was surely not threat. She placed the incident at the back of her mind and decided to think of it later. Now her train of thoughts was directed towards Rose...

"There you go, child creature," said Geon handing the little girl a small bag filled with gardening tools. It was half covered in dry mud, but Rose just placed it around her small waits looking at Geon with apprehension. She had never seen a house- elf before, but she always read that they were supposed to be friendly. As if she were the subject of a bad joke, Geon was anything but friendly. The wrinkled creature in possession of a long, pointed nose, sharp ears and huge eyes gave her untrustworthy looks every time Rose caught her eye. She even heard her mumble something about the unfairness of having a little dwarf person to look after in the garden. Rose thought it was highly unfair that Geon thought her to be short, when in fact she was an entire head above the wrinkled creature.

She had been with Geon in the first veranda garden for the past fifteen minutes, and she already felt much worse about the task ahead. The house elf mumbled something which was supposed to be an explanation every time she cut off leaves and dried plant trunks, before taking the broom and cleaning the stone floor off dried leaves and dead flower petals. Every time she found a snail, she would prop it in her large mouth, chew on it until green mucus was visible in her mouth's corners and then spit the shell out. Rose felt sick so decided not to look at the disturbing creature any longer than necessary. After finishing the first veranda, Geon gave Rose an expectant look and pointed with her abnormally large finger towards the second one, a few meters away. "That's your job!" she said in a disagreeable voice before flicking her fingers and disappearing from the scene.

Rose felt a little happier at the fact that she was alone...yet at the same time more nervous. What if she did something wrong? Would Mr Malfoy slap her the way his wife slapped Hugo? But, she thought, gardening couldn't be that hard. She just had to cut off the dry parts of plants, right? And she much rather preferred being alone in the garden than to have the strange being call her "child creature."

The arrival of autumn made the second veranda garden a mess. There were about ten large pots filled with plants Rose recognised to be regular flora, and strange plants she only came across in her mother's Herbology books. Most had lost their summary bright colours, and those that did not become rusty were galvanised by a dark blue colour. The only flowers that seemed unaffected by the claws of autumn were the prominent Red Roses, bathing that small garden with a strong, sharp smell which indulged both the senses and the soul. Rose felt as if she could have stood there the entire day, unmindful of the cold northerly wind, dreaming she was one of the delicate red roses. But when she opened her eyes once more, to see her own reflection in the French windows, she saw the servant uniform she now had to wear and remembered who she really was. So she took her pair of scissors out and started chopping off the dry dead leaves, just like Geon had done. She found some of the leaves of the plants she never encountered before very interesting to the touch. Some were smooth like the waters of an undisturbed lake others had small hairs that stood up when she touched them. She never thought of plants as such interesting creatures before...and gardening did not seem as bad as she imagined it to be. As she was chopping off the senseless, dry leaves, the smell of roses constantly bathed her with a smell of being alive and despite all that happened to her family since Ron died, she felt a little optimistic about life after all.

But soon enough she reached a point where the indulgence of the roses made her concentrate less upon what she had to do, and so the sharp pair of scissors slices off a very large green and lively leaf. There was a sharp cry of pain as the plant which had just lost a healthy leaf to the hands of a little girl who did not know how to a pair of scissors. Before Rose could react to the unexpected voice of nature, the top of the plant, which seemed like nothing more than a large, dark blue flower at first, closed its petals like a stabbed eye, and when the petals opened again, they were coated by many sharp teeth. Rose was still holding on to its thin trunk, too bewitched by a process of transformation of the plant from a beautiful innocent flower, into a carnivorous angry flora, thus she did not have enough time to withdraw her left arm as its sharp teeth bit hard into her soft flesh, washing the stones beneath Rose's feet into a puddle of red blood.

She screamed and tried to get away, only the plant had stabbed her with its teeth too deep. She fell to the floor, tears sprinting from her eye, but the plant only bit harder as Rose screamed and kicked. The pain was too much...she felt it even in the depths of the bones and the sharp smell of Roses made her want to throw up. When she opened her eyes, her vision was spotted by black dots; her body became number, consumed by pain. She heard someone's heavy footsteps running towards he, followed by a jet of green light as the carnivorous plant consuming her arm dropped dead in her blood. Yet the pain was still there, her arm was still throbbing with pain as if the teeth were still inserted in her flesh. She felt someone's arm go beneath her neck, as the person's other hand gently took her injured arm and placed it upon her abdomen. She opened her teary eyes and saw the severe, cold face of a man with icy eyes and pale blonde hair falling around his face like a veil of silk. He was saying something to her, but the words were too far away, as if channelled through a long, curving tunnel with too much echo.

"Oh Lucius, poor child!" Narcissa Malfoy finally caught up with Lucius, who was now holding the little injured girl in his arms. She kneeled down next to them and placed her hand on Rose's sweaty forehead. "She looks terrible!"

Rose attempted to open her eyes a little, but the light was too bright. Nevertheless, she managed to see the face of a very beautiful blonde woman. Her features were cold but soft at the same time, and in her feminine face she saw Draco looking back at her. Her eyes rolled back as she finally gave in to unconsciousness in the arms of the two people that would possibly turn to be the most influential couple in her life.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six—The Painting of Abraxas Malfoy**

**September 2013**

"Is she awake?" The voice that entered Rose's ears was soft and musical. The accent was _aristocratic_, the volume down enough to not bother her alert and yet numb senses. "Look, she is crying, so she must feel it! The venom didn't get deep enough Luce!" There was a flicker of excitement in the woman's voice and even without opening her eyes Rose could draw her face in her mind. The face of a pale woman, a few wrinkles around her eyes...but able to conceal and dominate age. She seemed to Rose, from the first time that she saw her, ageless. And her eyes...her icy eyes were an exact replica of those possessed by Mr Draco who had saved them. It was only the fine eyeliner that contoured them that showed the difference between the male and female ones.

The woman spoke no more and Rose felt herself being carried away from the veranda garden by a pair of strong hands. She wished the woman could speak again, for her voice calmed her down. Her voice was a distraction from the abominable pain in her arm and the warm blood running down all the way to her fingers and making them twitch once or twice before going numb again. Her lips parted and she let out a small moan of pain, followed by a sob. She didn't like it. The numbness was beginning to pass and the pain took over her body. She immediately felt a soft hand caress her cheek as she was placed on something soft. She opened her eyes.

"It's okay, sweetheart," said the tall, severe looking man with long blonde hair. "I'm going to make your arm fine in just a minute." Rose looked up at him, tears rolling down her face in vast numbers. She wanted her mom.

"It hurts," she cried barely above a weak whisper. She felt slightly embarrassed for acting like such a baby, but her arm felt as if it were about to break away and run, leaving the pain behind for Rose to handle. "It really hurts..." she wailed, unable to keep the sobs in any longer.

"I know it does, love. Let me see." Rose pulled away out of instinct. The tall, blonde man with an icy glare and prominent jaw looked scary, but when he opened his mouth, a soft and warm voice came out. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said in a warm voice followed by a daring smile.

Rose eyed him wearily before relaxing and allowing him to take her arm. "Now...how did a lovely girl such as yourself end up annoying a fully grown Grade Four Carnivorous Plant?" Rose mumbled something along the lines of "I don't know" and Mr Malfoy decided not to prolong her suffering any longer, for the little girl was really starting to look quite pale. With one swift movement, he took his wand out of his cane and pointed it towards Rose's bloodied arm. "_Episkey_," he said in a silky, deep voice and just like that, the wounds on Rose's arm closed and the blood disappeared. "There you go, love. You are as good as new," he continued standing up form the green leather sofa and placing his wand back in his cane.

"Thank you, sir," she whispered looking at the tall and well dressed man before him that bore such a striking resemblance to Draco. Lucius gave her a small smile, as did Narcissa. "Well, you can go back to Scorpius now...but next time you two play games in the garden, you should avoid upsetting the plants. Scorpius should know better than that, after the trouble he got in last year," said Narcissa in a rather sharp tone. Rose looked slightly perplexed for a few seconds. Games? As if she had time for that. As for Scorpius, they had never exchanged any words...so why would the woman standing in front of her assume that she was his friend? Did she not notice the servant's uniform she was wearing?

"Umm..." she started but before she could continue, Draco walked in the room, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet in one hand and looking rather grave. He was so deep in thought that he barely realised his parents were standing in front of him, until he was just a few metres away from them. "Father," he acknowledged, with a nod and a small smile towards Narcissa. "You're here early," he continued while rolling the Daily Prophet in his hands and holding it rather tightly.

"Well yes...Cissy and I thought it would be a nice day to take a walk in the rose garden. Oh, don't look so surprised Draco...this was once our house, remember?" The Malfoy senior looked a little angry at his son and his rather unwelcoming reaction upon seeing them.

"I know that father, I was just told to expect you at two. It's barely passed eleven am. Astoria is still out," he continued looking at his mother.

"Of course she is," said Narcissa and a small smirk appeared across Lucius' face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Draco in a slightly annoyed voice.

"Nothing. I just know that she is _such _a busy person," continued Narcissa. "But if she would stay home more often, she could keep an eye on the children. This little friend of Scorpius' got her hand caught in a carnivorous plant today, because, it clearly appears _Scorpy_ doesn't remember he is not supposed to play in the garden." The acrimony in Mrs Malfoy's voice set cold chills on Rose's spine. She felt rather awkward being there and she hoped she could just get off the sofa and tiptoe out of the living room.

It was only then that Draco looked down to see Rose sitting, rather uncomfortably on the sofa. Rose looked once up at him, but upon meeting his cold eyes, her hazel orbs felt compelled to look down at her hands.

"Scorpius is upstairs. He's been there the whole day, and Rose is not his friend. She is a new...um servant." He said the last part of his sentence rather fast, as if somehow ashamed of admitting it. Why was it that his father had the talent of apparating into his life in the most unsuitable moments?

"Your new servant? Well, boy, you certainly don't cease to surprise me with your life choices. Are house elves not good enough for you? I didn't even know you approved of child labour. What's Scorpius doing? Wiping the dust off the furniture upstairs?" he asked in a sarcastic voice, making Draco, despite the fact that he was a grown man in his thirties, look like a small child being told off.

"It's not like that. Rose's mother, Anna, has lost her husband and her house was set on fire. They are now here, working for us. Harry, Rose's brother is a playmate for Scorpius and Rose was only supposed to clean the gardens. I don't know how she managed to get in such trouble, but from now I think she will be better off doing chores inside." Draco felt a little as if he were telling his father someone's life story, when his father clearly did not care about extraneous details. The sarcastic look on Lucius' face did not disappear and Draco started feeling more and more uncomfortable and irritated.

"Well isn't that charitable of you?" continued Lucius. "But anyway...your house, your rules," he said and looked down at Rose who seemed as if she wanted to be part of the sofa. "Let's go in my old study...we have something to discuss," continued Lucius starting to make his way down a long corridor followed by Narcissa. Draco eyed Rose who stood up from the sofa as soon as Lucius went away and looking rather embarrassed. "I'm sorry Mr Malfoy. I will be more careful next time."

For a moment he tried to imagine Scorpius in her place. The mental image made him want to kick himself hard. How on earth did he assume a 7 year old child would be able to tend a magical garden with no knowledge whatsoever of the dangers of carnivorous plants?

"I shall speak to you later about what you can do. You are dismissed for the day," he said rather kindly and without another word, followed his father's footsteps towards the study, leaving Rose even more perplexed than she was before. She looked around the grand room as the sunrays were bathing it in a warm light. There were not many items of furniture...just the green leather sofa placed upon a Persian carpet...a small desk in the far corner of the room holding a vase filled with numerous red roses that bathed the room in a sweet smell. There was a small library in another corner, filled with some antique volumes on subjects Rose could never dream of reading. The walls were decorated by only one portrait, of a tall and well built man in his early forties. He was dressed in rich clothes and his blonde hair was placed in a neat ponytail. The more Rose looked at him, the more she realized how much he resembled both Lucius and Draco. The same cold eyes...the same platinum blond hair...the same severe expression...

"Well don't stand there staring at me the entire day, girl!" Rose had never seen a talking portrait before. Sure, she read about them and she asked her mother numerous questions about the talking paintings of Hogwarts, but she never had the chance to really _see _one. So when Abraxas Malfoy opened his mouth and started moving inside his frame, Rose jumped back and nearly sent the rose vase flying across the room. "Oh deary...I sense a very nervous disposition within you, young lady."

"I'm sorry?" asked Rose finally pulling herself together after just about catching the vase from falling and causing even more trouble.

"You are a very nervous person," repeated Abraxas, pointing a finger at her. His facial expression froze for a moment, and he reminded Rose of those mechanical soubrettes found at the circus who suddenly go wrong and stop moving. But then his eyebrows furrowed together as he pierced Rose with his cold eyes. "Oh Merlin! Don't move!" he said and Rose looked around feeling as if she were on no man's land with both sides aiming for her. She didn't understand the manner of the man in the paining but something about the way he was looking at her made her feel extremely self conscious. "You are in grave danger!"

"I'm sorry?" she asked again, not daring to breathe too loudly.

"Stop saying that!" he snapped and Rose's eyes widened. "Your magical aura is under threat from the carnivorous plant venom!" Abraxas adopted a very grave voice. "I'm afraid my son, Lucius, didn't heal you properly."

"What?"

"Don't say what, _say pardon_, young lady! But not to worry, young Rose, because I know what to do!"

"But no wizard can see the magical aura of another," she said in a worried voice. She remembered reading this exact fact in one of her mother's books from Hogwarts..._100 things you should know before going to Hogwarts..._or something along those lines.

"I am not a wizard, I'm a painting! And paintings can see things that wizards can't. Do you understand what I am saying?" Rose nodded once, not knowing whether to take Abraxas seriously or not. "You need to clear your magical aura with two of the core power elements."

"Wha—_pardon_?" asked Rose extremely perplexed. She came closer towards the painting, looking up at the severe and extremely serious face of the wizard within. He seemed not to be joking and Rose felt herself becoming warmer and warmer. She wondered whether that was the venom.

"Here's what I want you to do. Firstly, take those roses out of the vase and splash the water over your face. Water is the first core element...it will clean your magical aura."

"Mr Malfoy, I can't do that! I would get in so much trouble...and..."

"Do you want not to be able to use magic even before you know how to use it?" he asked in a severe voice.

"No...But..."

"No buts! Just do it! Now, before it's too late!" he continued pointing his finger towards the vase that made Rose feel as if she were going to get decapitated. With slightly trembling hands she removed the roses and placed them carefully on the table. She then lifted the vase over her head and let the water soak her head, her clothes and the white marble floor on which she was standing. She let out a small groan at the mess and tried not to think of the trouble she will certainly encounter. But her magical aura was more important. Right? She certainly hoped so.

"Good," said Abraxas. "Now the wind...to remove any remaining degrading venom from your magical aura. I want you to take your shoes off."

"Why?" she asked slightly annoyed.

"Because you will have to slide on this marble floor, from here until the end of the room over there, and embrace the wind as you do so," he said and gave Rose a small encouraging smile. "Don't look at me like that, young lady. Do as you are told. NOW!" he roared and Rose immediately started removing her shoes. When only her white socks covered her feet she looked back up at the painting of Abraxas. "Good. As you slide, I want you to say loudly and clearly, _I am clean and fresh. You cannot do me any harm; I swear so upon the youth of my freckled flesh!" _

Rose looked at him wide eyed for a moment. She wanted to laugh, but then remembered he was really serious and she ought not to. "Well off you go!" She took her eyes off Abraxas and eyed the far end of the room. She gulped once, started running and then sliding on the wet marble, embracing the wind as an old lost friend.

"I am clean and fresh," she started as she reached the far end of the wall. She pushed against it and started sliding in the other direction, back towards Abraxas, "You cannot do me any harm," she chanted as she nearly bumped into the small library, before starting to slide in the other direction yet again, "I swear so upon the youth of my freckled flesh!"

"And again!" roared Abraxas. Rose eyed him exasperatedly.

"Again?" she asked in a small voice. Abraxas gave her a severe nod. She quietened down her breathing and started running again, then sliding on the wet marble floor, chanting, "I am clean and fresh...umm...I...am...You cannot do me any harm...I swear upon the youth of my freckled-"

"What on earth are you doing?"

Rose stopped dead in her tracks, losing her balance for a moment and falling on her backside. Scorpius Malfoy was standing in front of her with Hugo, a strange expression upon his face. "Are you okay Rosie?" asked Hugo in a small voice.

"The painting...he spoke and...umm...told me that my magical aura is in danger, unless...I did what he said. I haven't finished and now I'm scared I'll lose my-"Before Rose could finish her sentence, Scorpius erupted in a roar of laughter, holding on to his stomach and going slightly red in the face. And for a few very long seconds he did not stop.

"What's so funny, may I ask?" asked Rose slightly intrigued and annoyed.

"The fact that you believed him," said Scorpius wiping away tears of laughter from the corner of his eyes. "Mother removed him from above the chimney in father's study and now he gets bored up there because no one ever speaks to him unless absolutely necessary. So he has his tricks to make people do stupid things to entertain him. Don't worry...you're not the first, but I'm pretty sure your case was the worst so far," continued Scorpius erupting again in uncontrollable laughter.

Rose felt herself go red. Of course he was joking...she should have known better. She looked around at the wet floor and remembered she had to clean it before getting into even bigger trouble. But before she could stand up from behind the sofa, where she had lost her balance, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps and the sound of someone's hills hitting the marble floor over and over again and sending loud echoes down the corridors. She froze.

"Mother," said Scorpius in a quieter voice than usual. Rose could see little Hugo stiffening. "Hello, Scorpius," said Astoria air kissing her son, before looking around the mess in the living room. "What happened here?"

A moment of silence followed. Rose knew that very soon she would get into huge trouble...because of her stupidity. Her heart was racing as if in a marathon and she wanted to stay hidden down there forever. But she knew that she had to stand up. After all, her parents had both been in Gryffindor...so she was one at heart too, right?

"I accidentally tripped and nearly knocked the vase off the table," said Scorpius before Rose could stand up and face her execution. "I'm sorry mother, I should have been more careful. But Abraxas startled me. At least the vase didn't break..." he continued in a rather uneasy voice fallowed by a small laugh.

"Ugh..._that old...Anyway, _don't worry darling. Just be more careful next time. _Reparo_," she chanted and just like that the vase refilled with water, the roses were re-placed in the vase and the marble floor was as clean as it had been before. "Now tell me...did this little monster upset you in any way today?" she asked giving Hugo a dirty look as one would give a small and insignificant insect.

"No," said Scorpius almost defensively. "I mean...he's a good playmate and I don't get lonely anymore. He's..._useful_."

"That's good. Well...if there's any trouble, you come to me, understood?" Scorpius nodded once and Astoria air kissed him once more before going down the corridor glamorously, her high heels torturing the ground beneath. As soon as she was out of sight, Rose stood up from behind the sofa and looked at Scorpius with a rather intrigued expression on her face. "You shouldn't have...lied to your mother," she said in a serious tone, imaging Hermione's reaction is she was to lie to her face like that. "But...thank you."

"You're welcome," replied Scorpius simply, a little taken aback that the little girl before him seemed not to be a regular liar. For his part, he could not imagine surviving in the Malfoy family without his little talent. "You can play with us if you want," he added in a rather cold voice that aimed to hide the fact that he desired to be able to play with the children that now lived inside his house. "If you...umm...finished your chores."

Rose looked at him for a moment. He certainly resembled his father very much—the same blond hair gelled backwards...the same grey eyes and the same pale complexion. His mouth seemed to find it rather unnatural to smile and his manner of speaking seemed to serious for a seven year old child. But she also saw that beneath these outside features, a little boy was dying to show his childish side...something that seemed more of a crime than a liberty in this new, grand house. "I'd love to," she replied and offered him a small smile. He smiled back.

Lucius Malfoy was sitting on a leather couch, a glass of Firewhiskey in his hands and his eyes piercing his son's. Draco was sitting in his father's old study, his hands still holding the Daily Prophet tightly. "Shacklebolt is dead," he finally said in a grave voice.

"Say something that will surprise me, Draco," said Lucius, but his voice too, was becoming graver. "It was only a matter of time. And I suppose Blackwell replaced him?"

Draco nodded once. "There's something else," he said looking gravely at his father. "They have one of the Potter kids. I don't know how they caught him...but it appears that they have branches in Italy as well."

Lucius said nothing, but placed his Firewhiskey on the side table. "Well that makes sense," he finally said, exhaling a deep breath.

"What do you mean?"

"They need Potter's blood to resurrect the Dark Lord again. It worked when Harry Potter was 14...they think it will work now," said Lucius.

"Well...that's just great. We need to get the bloody Potter kid out of their claws." Draco placed his head in his hands. "Potter should have never bloody reproduced."

Before Lucius or Draco could say something else, a loud pop cracked the air as a small house elf appeared in the middle of the study. "Jinxy is terribly sorry to interrupt, Master Malfoy...Jinxy had to iron her hands for this intrusion...but Jinxy is afraid she saw the children go down in the forbidden part of the dungeons, after a golden flying ball that they lost."

"Merlin's bloody beard! How many times did I tell him he is not supposed to be down there? Just wait until I get my hands on him," said Draco standing up from his desk in a storm of anger.

"I don't know why you are acting so surprised...you did the exact same thing when you were his age," said Lucius standing up as well and following his son out of the study. Not even _he_ dared to go down to that part of the mansion without his wand ready.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven—Torn Roses**

**September 2013**

A flash of green, blinding light passed between his half closed eyes. He placed his hand in front of his face as if to protect himself from the burning sensation of pain and terror, but when he finally opened his eyes, he found himself in darkness. The pulse of his own heart was racing his ears, over and over again until the mattress he was lying upon became a bed of soaking, cold needles, stabbing at his flesh, biting it, making it bleed with numb pain. He stood up abruptly, searching for the glass of water on the wooden table by the bed, but it was empty and dry, like his own throat. A moan of frustration escaped his lips and hit his head with his right hand, then with his left and then with his right hand yet again. When his breathing slowed down, he stood up and started pacing around his room, his prison and sanctuary that he did not completely comprehend. The stone walls were alien to him, the green rug beneath his empty feet was reminiscent of the grass he once knew and the tall ceiling was a substitute for the sky he did not see in…years, decades? He didn't remember how long the strange and alien place he woke up in every morning was his home. He ran his hands through the tangles dark mess he called his hair, the unshaved jaw and the he smiled absently at a memory he could not fully remember.

A flash of golden light flickered before his eyes, but then it disappeared as quickly as it came. He numbly stared in the spot where it had previously appeared wondering whether his mind was yet again playing tricks on him. But then, a feather-like feel caressed his cheek ever so slightly, before indulging him with its calming presence yet again. He stared at the little gold ball before him, remembering some long ago game when people on brooms tried to catch it. He didn't remember who those people were—he just recalled the speed of their broom, the liveliness of their faces. They were alive. He tried to catch the little golden ball, but it was too fast for the monotones of his hand. He grew frustrated and tried to hit the ball, but it was still too quick. "Come to me," he said, his voice deep and cracked from the absence of speech. The Snitch flew in some far away corner, away from his reach. "Come to me," he repeated, this time his voice much stronger. He felt the anger within him rise. His eyes became wider, his eyebrows tensed. The uncontrollable anger within him was unstoppable. The glass cup on the table shattered to pieces, but he was still staring at the tiny golden ball that he failed to catch. He started following it around the room; his heavy, angry steps made the walls vibrate in fear. He punched the wooden door that kept him locked inside with all his strength and cried in anger.

"What was that?" asked Rose stopping in her tracks. She looked at Scorpius who was quite pale. The blonde hair that was usually neatly arranged, no longer gave him a look of maturity and authority. She could see how nervous the coiling walls of the dungeons made him feel and goose bumps appeared on her freckled arms. She liked the darkness, but the darkness of the Malfoy dungeons was too intense. It was too cold and violent. It wasn't the warm and illuminating darkness she was used to at home. Home? This was her home, she thought. But the darkness no longer welcomed her as it once had. It was a darkness that turned her stomach upside down with anxiety and...fear.

"We're not supposed to be down here," he whispered looking around as if the walls would swallow him in hunger. He ran his hands over his face, but, upon remembering that he was supposed to seem brave, replaced the worry on his face with a nonchalant smile. Rose looked at him rather strangely. "Maybe we should go back up, then," she said, but beneath the confident words, Scorpius' fear was transmitting on to her as well.

"I can't leave it here," said Scorpius leading them down some narrow steps, into a corridor that was much darker. "I saw it going down here," he continued, gulping and slowing down ever so slightly.

"I'm scared," said Hugo who tugged his sister's blouse. The sudden darkness of the corridor overwhelmed him. The monsters with red eyes glared at him from dark corners, their claws wanting to grab him from behind. "Can we go back up, Scorpius?" he asked, but the latter shock his head no, giving the young boy an angry look.

"It's your fault it escaped from the room. You should have closed the door when I told you," said Scorpius but Hugo was too worried about the darkness to care about the older boy's words.

"Maybe we should get your dad to find it," suggested Rose hugging Hugo closer to her.

"No," said Scorpius. "He…umm…told me not to take it out of the room. We'll find it and go back up. You can't mention a word of this to him!" he continued in a rather desperate voice as his eyes pleaded the other two children for silent secrecy.

"What's down here?" asked Hugo in a small voice, holding on to Rose for dear life. "Can I wait here?"

"We have to keep together," said Rose drawing him closer. They followed Scorpius down another flight of narrow steps with their small child steps. Rose could not remember how it happened but Scorpius's warm hand was holding her own, as she felt the surge to blush just a little.

BANG!

"What was that?" she asked, but her eyes were stuck on the wooden black door, barley visible in the dim light of the corridor, trying not to contemplate of what it held inside. "What's in there?" she whispered, but Scorpius, too scared to verbalise his thought made a sign that he did not know. His eyes were on the floor, at the edge of the door where a small and frail golden wing was sticking from underneath as if desperate to escape from the monstrosity that kept it imprisoned inside. It fluttered a few times and then, following another loud noise, ceased to move.

"No…" whispered Scorpius and Rose could see his eyes flooding in tears that he wiped away, hoping that no one noticed his childishness.

"It's just a ball," whispered Rose trying to keep her act together. She placed a hand on his shoulder but he moved away, to her surprise closer to the door. "It's not just a ball…" he whispered and took another step towards the door.

"Let's go back up," urged Rose attempting once again to grab his hand. She could not understand how a little flying, golden ball could evoke such strong emotions in Scorpius. "Please," she whispered.

"You go if you want," he said a little hurt. "I need to get the ball back. I don't think it's too hard," he continued his voice much braver than he was.

"What do you need to do?" she heard herself saying. She could feel the hands of her stupidity and immaturity pulling her hair but…she couldn't leave Scorpius all alone and Hugo was too scared to go back up alone, through the darkness and find help. Besides, she thought, he got her out of trouble earlier, so she must pay him back. She instructed Hugo to go and stand in a dark corner, thinking that it would be better if her were invisible. He did not protest.

"The ball is just down there…I doubt that whatever is inside will be standing by the door. All we need to do is open the door, take the Snitch and then slam it shut. We then go back up the stairs and pretend that nothing happened. Deal?" his grey eyes showed stubborn determination. Rose nodded once, hoping that she looked surer than she felt. Scorpius tiptoed to the door, took the small key that was hanged on the wall and laced it in the lock. The sound of metal on metal echoed through the dungeons, into the stone walls and back out again, making the little hairs on Rose's arm stand up alerted. Scorpius opened the heavy wooden door just enough to drag the Snitch out, but before either child could make the apparent simple move, the door flew open in all its glory and the man inside, smelling victorious and terrifying freedom, pushed them out of his way into the nearest stone wall.

He saw a blinding green light and felt the uncontrollable anger within him rise to unimaginable levels. They shouldn't have released him…for he was not part of a real reality. He wanted to hit them for their stupidity. There was a sane part of him that wanted to tell them to run away while they still could. But the anger was too much for him to bear…he couldn't control his hands as they dragged a small blonde boy up from the floor by the collar. He was kicking his feet and shouting words and tears he did not hear. His grey eyes were wide and watery. A red haired girl…red haired girl…freckled girl…was hitting his leg with all her strength, but the pain was too numb for him to feel. He wished he could.

"Stupefy!" A flash of red light hit the mad man right in the chest, making him drop the little boy and fly back into his dark hole. The wooden door closed as he lay on the floor, wishing for death to come over him like a long lost lover. He closed his eyes.

"Scorpius!" Draco kneeled beside his teary son and hugged him tight before letting go. "Are you hurt anywhere? Is anything hurting?" Scorpius shook his head that everything was fine, wiped his tears on his sleeve and mentally slapped himself for acting like such a baby when the tall, dark haired man started shaking him. Really…it wasn't that bad, he thought lamely. "What in Merlin's name were you three doing down here?" he looked for a minute at Rose who was hugging little Hugo. He breathed again upon the cool realisation that they too were not injured. "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?" his attention returned to Scorpius who seemed to do all his best to evaporate into the air. He bowed his head down and became extremely fascinated by his shoe laces. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, young man. What were you doing down here?" He placed his index finger under Scorpius's chin and lifted his guilty head up.

"I think this explains it," said Lucius, holding between his fingers a half squashed golden Snitch, one wing still fluttering incoherently in the air.

Draco gave his son a disapproving look and then continued, "Scorpius Lucius Malfoy, this is by far the stupidest thing you've done this year!"

"I'm sorry," he said too quickly to really mean it.

"That's all you have to say for yourself?" Draco took the little boy's ear as he led him up the stairs. "I told you that you are not allowed to come down in the dungeons alone, _how_ many times before?" Although it barely stung, Scorpius gave out a small cry as his father led him down the dungeon corridors and back up to the ground level. Lucius motioned for Rose and Hugo to follow and with one last look at the wooden door, he placed his wand back in his cane, dusted it off a little and then followed them back up the stairs, making a mental note to tell a house elf to cover that blasted barred window so that his grandson's silly toys don't end up in the most dangerous place of the mansion in the future.

"I'm sorry," whined Scorpius, this time finally realising how close he was to shaking hands with death in the past half an hour. "I won't do it again, I promise."

"Yes, you will be sorry once all those toys are going to disappear out of your room and all you'll have to entertain yourself with will be my old school books. It's about time you started reading more, young man and if locking you up in the library for a day is what it will take for you to stay out of trouble, than that's what I shall do." Draco veered left and led the boy up the final flight of stairs before the midday sunlight bathed them all into a warm light. "I am very disappointed in you. You are going to be eight years old soon and this is how you behave?" Draco's words finally got to Scorpius, because he bowed his head down in embarrassment and he once again felt his eyes bathe in tears. "Go and wait in my study, Scorpius. You and I are going to have a very long talk before lunchtime about what it means to disobey rules again and again. It appears that our last conservation was obliviated from your mind." Scorpius gave Rose a sad look as he made his way down a corridor towards his father's study, wishing that his Quidditch obsession would just go away and cease bringing trouble at his door and shoving it in his room through the keyhole.

"As for you two, I have no idea what was going through your mind, but if I ever catch you down in the dungeons, there will be consequences. Go to your room," finished Draco looking at the Weasley kids and wondering why on earth he cared so much about their safety when he only just met them. Wasn't he a Slytherin after all? Or his Huffelpuff puffiness started taking residence as he got older?

"We'll discuss the Potter child issue after lunch. Don't be too harsh on Scorpius," said Lucius, gave his son his usual cold smile and walked along a narrow corridor into a part of his former mansion he particularly liked, raising his eyebrows as a salute as he walked past his father's painting.

Hermione huffed and said something _not too charming_ in her head. It was true that she was still an avid supporter of house elf rights, but even she had to admit how annoying the wrinkled bloody creatures could be sometimes. At the particular moment she found herself in, they _insisted _she takes lunch to the main table, claiming it signified her _entrée_ into the Malfoy employment and than every new kitchen hand had to do this. "_How humiliating_", she thought as she levitated a few plates into the air and walked out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into the main lunch room, where a long mahogany table waited, decorated with red apples, grapes and pears in its centre. Her stomach rumbled and she went slightly red, as she emerged from the Hogwarts style pillars circling the oval shaped room. But when the pillars ceased blocking her view, her eyes widened at the familiar image of a blonde man with a heavy jaw sitting next to an annoyingly beautiful middle aged woman. She had to calm her breathing just to make sure that her levitation charm did not break. Her pulse was racing as memories from a long time ago flooded her senses…memories from when she was so young that you could stay she was still a child…memories when these blonde people looked at her, with emotionless cold eyes as Bellatrix Lestrange craved the words MUDBLOOD into her flesh as if in a piece of insignificant wood. The plates trembled a little as they were placed on the table.

"Thank you," said Draco curtly, avoiding looking into her eyes, for he could see the rain clouds were about to release thunder and lightning. She did not look at him, and she tried for her eyebrows to stay as straight as they could, but he knew better. "You may go," he added, hoping that his words would liberate her from the visual torture of his wife and parents and even himself. Hermione nodded once and started making her way back towards the exit, when Astoria's loud voice stopped her in her tracks.

"What is…_this_?" she asked, scrutinising the piece of turkey coated in mushroom sauce on her silver plate.

"Turkey," replied Lucius who was about to place the fork into his mouth. He did so, making sure that he smiled when she looked up at him. Astoria said nothing. She then looked at Draco who was busy with his portion. Was he avoiding making eye contact? Her eyebrows tensed slightly as she watched them all enjoy their lunch. She then looked back at Hermione who was waiting patiently, her hands drawn together on her apron. "We were supposed to have beef today," she said curtly and gave Hermione a cold look. "I specifically asked for…"

"The turkey is fine," interrupted Narcissa looking at her daughter in law with slight annoyance and coldness. "I'm sorry if your arrangements were not met…I asked for the change. I'm allergic to beef, you see." She gave Astoria a cold smile. "You may go," she said to Hermione as she disappeared out of the lunch room with quick steps, grateful that she made it out of such a private family moment. "I thought Draco had told you," she finished looking at her son who was adding some more sauce over his turkey, pretending that his mother's words were in a different language.

"He didn't," said Astoria turning slightly red, but then resuming her ice face and starting with her lunch. Draco and Astoria ate the rest of their meal in silence as Narcissa and Lucius continued in their small conversations, smiling at each other every now and then and holding hands under the table like rebelling teenagers.

Back in the kitchens, Hermione stole an apple and she was savouring it like she hadn't savoured food in a long time. The house elves were on their lunch break and she enjoyed the solitude and the smell of the spices surrounding her. She could not remember ever feeling so happy to be alone. She thought of Narcissa Malfoy and her delicate hands over the silver cutlery…she thought of Lucius looking all calm and humane. She wondered if he still had the Death Eater tattoo, or whether his too became a scar. Astoria intrigued her. She was not an ugly woman, on the contrary. Her features were a little hard, but she was a Malfoy for Merlin's sake! She was slim and tall and elegant…and she just didn't comprehend why Draco was not more husband like towards her. She could not imagine him stroking her back or kissing her neck. She could not imagine her hugging Scorpius. She seemed more like a walking statue with a loud voice and feelings too hidden to be seen. She thought back of Ron and what they used to be like. They kissed whenever entering the room, they kissed in the morning before breakfast and in the afternoon before tea. They kissed when Rose and Hugo were not looking and they kissed in the passionate hours of the night. Even their hands kissed when they were together. So why did Astoria and Draco never kiss like that? She pushed these thoughts away as she heard approaching footsteps. "Hey honey," she said when Rose appeared in the doorway. Her hand ran over the table as she picked up another red apple. "Are you still hungry?" she asked looking at Rose who was quite pale.

"No," she replied looking at the apples. "Yes, can I have one of those? Two, actually."

Hermione nodded once and Rose took two red apples from the tables and was about to run off when Hermione called her back. "What's the hurry?" Rose smiled a little but said nothing. "Hugo and I are playing."

"I thought Hugo was with Scorpius," said Hermione biting into her second apple. She was sitting on a high table, like she used to do at home in her own kitchen. She missed her kettle and microwave…at Malfoy Manor she had to do everything with a wand and it exhausted her.

"He did, but his dad needed him. I think they will play again tomorrow," said Rose looking rather uneasy. She hated lying to her mother, but if she told her the truth about Scorpius and the dungeons then she was afraid her mother would not let her play with him again. "I'll see you later, mom," she said giving Hermione her usual sweet smile and she ran out of the kitchen, leaving Hermione deep in thought.

She made her way across winding corridors, carpeted and well cared for. There were flower pots in e corners and vast numbers of paintings of people who looked down at her curiously. She was grateful that none spoke to her, for she did not want another incident like the one with Abraxas Malfoy. Veering left, she thought of Hugo sleeping sweetly in bed, the covers all around his as if a shield for reality. She hoped Hermione would not notice her absence, for she didn't wish for her little adventure to be too long.

"_Now what_?" she thought when arriving on a corridor filled with doors, more doors. Scorpius' room, she though, must be one of these. But which one? She knew that all the adults were downstairs, eating lunch, so she did not worry about running into them. What she did worry about was another incident like the one in the dungeons. The MalfoyMansion was vast…she had no idea who else could live in it. Holding her heart with her teeth, she opened a random door, but found it to be en empty dormitory, as if for guests. Door by door, she tried until she reached the end of the corridor. She came across more guest rooms and more guest rooms and some doors that led into other corridors…a few were locked and finally, there was one door left, the last on the corridor, right before a big window. She turned the door knob and when it opened, Scorpius Malfoy stared at her, rather nervously before breathing out again in relief. He was holding a book that was still on the front page.

"What are you doing here?" he asked rather surprised at her entrée. Rose held the two apples towards him, feeling a little as if he were some sort of cute animal in a zoo. Scorpius raised his eyebrows, quote perplexed. "Did you have lunch?" she asked.

"No."

"Here," she said giving him the apples with a small smile. "When I used to be grounded I was not allowed to eat lunch until supper," she said remembering the time when Hermione grounded her for going out of the house and ending up three streets away. "I thought you might be hungry."

"Umm...thanks," he said going slightly red. "Would you like to eat one with me?"

"Maybe you should keep it for later," said Rose sitting down on the floor next to him.

"It's okay, I had a big breakfast."

Rose gave him yet another small smile and took one of the apples from him. They both started eating at the same time, not saying anything until they arrived at the centre. "Was your dad harsh on you?"

"Harsher than ever," he said looking at her with big grey eyes.

"I'm sorry…"

"He wants me to finish half of this book by evening. It's not that I don't read…but this is just the most boring thing I've ever seen," he huffed in boredom. Rose raised her eyebrows. _Harsher than ever?_ Really?

"How much did you read?" she asked looking at the cover that spelled out _Pre-Hogwarts History of Magic._

"Two pages," he replied laughing a little. "I know it seems like a stupid punishment, but he was quite angry. I haven't seen him like this in ages and he said he might send Lucius to speak to me later. It's usually serious when he says this."

"You call your granddad, _Lucius?_" asked Rose imagining what it would be like to call granddad _Arthur_. She laughed a little at the thought, imagining his facial expression when his name would come out of her lips. Would he laugh? Will she ever see him again?

"Well, that _is_ his name," said Scorpius as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Grandfather seems _a little_ inappropriate."

"Inappropriate?"

"Well…he doesn't exactly look like a grandfather," he laughed a little, "the blonde hair and the cane and all that…he's not even _that_ old. I imagine a granddad to look like Mr Duncan."

"Who?"

"The man who sells wands on Diagon Alley."

"Oh," said Rose remembering the wrinkled face, pale eyes behind huge spectacles and mad white hair of the wand maker she first saw when she was five. She dreamt about finally being old enough to walk through his shop and get her wand ever since then.

Silence engulfed the two children once more as they ate some more of their apples. The sunrays were beginning to settle down with lunch's departure and Rose and Scorpius were bathed in an orange autumn light.

"Who was that man in the dungeon?" asked Rose, not being able to conceal her curiosity any longer.

"I don't know. Father never told me…I tried to ask him today, but he said I should have nothing to do with it." Scorpius looked as intrigued as Rose. His eight year existence at Malfoy Manor had been decorated by such mysterious events. He would find strange objects in strange rooms, only to be told that he was not allowed to go in a certain part of the mansion anymore, or that he was not supposed to touch such objects. When his burning curiosity made him disobey rules again, he went in search of his mysterious discoveries yet again, only to find that they had been removed from their original location. He wondered whether the mad man was bound to disappear as well and how many more doors would become locked for him. But no, this time he wanted to find out who the man was and why he was living in the dungeons. If only is father were more cooperative with sharing information, Scorpius would cease endangering his life to solve grown up, dangerous riddles. "I will find out," he said looking at Rose again. He though she would disprove of his sudden interest in the mad man. He had only properly met her in the morning, but there was sometime strangely mature and yet intriguing about her. She seemed like a person who would risk a lot for adventures…she could become a good companion. For even though he was nearly eight years old, his interest in toys was fading. Harry, his new playmate made his interest in Snitches and moving dragons return for a few hours, but it was still this red haired new girl that he wanted to spend time in, looking for hidden treasures within the mansion.

Rose said nothing. A part of her wanted to tell him he was mad, but even she had to admit that the curiosity was eating her alive, making her mind itch with the desire to investigate. She thought of the blonde haired boy sitting down next to her, and she saw something very familiar within him. She found it strange, she had only met him in the morning and yet she felt that there was more of her in him than in Hugo. There was something that drew her in, his openness, his calm nature and his adventurous ways. She ached for company of her own age. It seemed to her that her complicated life at Malfoy Manor in the absence of a father could be soothed by his existence. "When you do, I'll come with you," she heard herself saying. But she didn't regret it. Scorpius gave her a small smile and was about to say something, when the sound of approaching footsteps set them both on their feet abruptly.

Rose looked at the door in distress. There was not enough time for her to make an escape without being seen. Scorpius pointed at the bed and whispered for her to hide under it. She moved quickly and to her relief she found the space to be big enough for her to fit in. She held her breath when the door opened.

Draco Malfoy was looking at his son with cold eyes, holding a tray of soup in his hands. Scorpius sat down on the edge of the bed, the usual place where he got lectured and watched his father as he placed the tray on his side table. They said nothing for a while and Draco sat down next to his son, letting out a sight.

"Why do you enjoy disobeying me, Scorpius?" he asked in a rather exasperated and calm tone. The little boy said nothing, for he knew it was a rhetorical question. With one hand, he tried to hide the book his father had given him as a torturous reading task behind the mattress, but Draco's eyes were too quick. "How much did you read, son?" He raised his eyebrows as Scorpius went slightly red.

"Umm…I've started it," he said in a small voice, not looking into his father's eyes.

"Well, in that case you can spend tomorrow continuing it," he said and the evil Malfoy smirk appeared on his face.

Scorpius wanted to object but he had a funny feeling that would get him into even more trouble. He sighted and looked down. The weight of the book's pages was already drawing him down.

"Now, look at me when I am talking to you, Scorpius. This time I was very lenient with you. You are to remain grounded for the rest of the week and then we shall forget about this. If, however, I catch you down in the dungeons again, there shall be graver consequences. You're lucky I don't give you the punishments my father did when I disobeyed," continued Draco reminiscing of those times when Lucius's deep voice haunted his dreams for nights after his punishment ended. But then again, he thought, that particular tone of voice may be needed if Scorpius were to go down there again. He made a mental note of changing the mad man's location. "Did I make myself clear, young man?"

The little boy nodded his head. "Use words, Scorpius, that's why you have a mouth!" scolded Draco and an automatic "yes sir" escaped from his son's lips. He gave a boy a little smile and stroke his hair for a moment before resuming his lecture; "Now…there's something else I have to speak to you about." Gray eyes met grey eyes in a questioning glare.

"I want you to spend less time with Rose Welloby. I don't know what she was doing down in the dungeons with you, but Harry is enough of a playmate. She is here as a servant and a servant only, and I don't want you to distract her from her chores," said Draco in a cold voice. It wasn't that he did not like the little girl, on the contrary, she proved to be as different from her annoying dead father as he was from Harry bloody Potter. She seemed intelligent but in a reserved way, not the bookworm style that Hermione used to be in her Hogwarts years. But he did not want his child to get entangled into a chain of murders and potential targets. Besides, despite her rather high maturity level, he thought, she was still a child. And a seven-year old could easily let the truth slip out. And he definitely couldn't have Scorpius knowing about the _Weasels._

"Why?" he asked in a small voice.

Oh Merlin, thought Draco. Why does he have to be so interrogative?

"Because I say so, young man," he said sounding more severe than he intended. He stood abruptly looking down at the blonde haired little human. Merlin he resembled him so much that it sometimes still shocked him. "Eat your lunch, read six more chapters and then off to bed."

"But it's barely past three," protested Scorpius looking at his father rather incredulously. He wasn't five anymore, for Merlin's sake.

"Look at the clock when you finish those six chapters…you will be surprised." With that, Draco gave his son a small, cold smile and walked out of the room, leaving the child in a rather internally angry state.

Astoria stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was wet. She quickly chanted a drying spell and, flicking her wand in a circular movement, managed to achieve a slight wave. She touched the sapphire earrings that she had just taken off with the tip of her finger. The stones felt cold against her pale skin. They felt emotionless, beautiful and mean. Suddenly, her eyes filled with diamonds as she broke down into hot tears that ran down from her pale eyes on her cheeks and then fell on the mahogany desk at the centre of their vast bed chamber. She shouldn't have said yes. She shouldn't have let the burning fingers of another man touch her skin, for now she bore the marks. She wiped the tears away violently and, with a bit of struggle, placed the emotionless mask back on. She tried to smile at her appearance in the mirror but the smile she achieved seemed more like a parody making her face seem fake. She drew her lips back into a straight line and, with her left hand applied a layer of pink balm to illuminate her face. There were heavy bags of tiredness under her eyes…it had been a long day.

She could hear the shower running in their matrimonial bathroom. She considered going in to greet Draco, imagining the touch of his wet skin against her own as their bodies danced a sensual waltz…his hands around her frail body. She missed the masculine protection he emitted when they lay in a sleepy embrace in the early hours of the morning. How long had it been…? Weeks…months? The sound of the shower stopped. When she lifted her eyes from mirror daydream, he was standing in the bathroom doorway, a white towel covering the lower part of his body. His abdomen was a constellation of muscles underneath pale flesh and a line of dark blonde hair hiding down, into the towel. He acknowledged her with a small nod and then changed into his pyjamas. Astoria stood up from her table and approached their bed, placing a hand on his chest and then embracing his head, pulling it slowly towards her own, until their lips met. She had missed him, but right when the cold ice within her began to melt, he moved away, rather abruptly. "I'm tired," he declared not meeting her eyes.

"You're tired?" she asked in an incredulous tone.

"It was a long day," he replied moving towards his side of the bed and picking up the book he had started the previous night.

"Draco," she said and sat down on the bed next to him. "What's going on?"

"Nothing is going on."

Astoria said nothing. She stood up with a huff and went to her side of the bed. "What did your mother say to you?"

"She said very little to me today. We barely spoke." He gave her a penetrating look, sensing the direction she wanted to take with their conversation. "I don't discuss you or our relationship with my mother," he continued, placing the book back on the side table and looking at his wife's cold expression.

"We both know that's not true, Draco," she said, pulling the covers over her silk nightgown. "Because she was a real bitch to me today."

"Don't say a word against my mother!" he said in an orderly tone, his eyebrows tensing and his eyes becoming a few degrees cooler. "After all that she did for you…"

"She doesn't want me as your wife, Draco. The woman loathes me, and I will speak like this about anyone who tells me I'm not good enough. I am good enough! Merlin, I am better than "good enough"…I'm the best damn thing you'll ever get. It's about time your mother stared showing me some respect! As for your father…"

"ENOUGH!" roared Draco before he could have the decency to refrain himself. He hated her when she spoke badly of the people that gave up everything for him. He hated her for being so blinded…he hated her for being a meaner Slytherin that he ever was. But he loved her nonetheless.

"Don't you dare tell me what I am to do, Draco Malfoy!" she said, as her voice became louder as well. "Are you having an affair?"

"_What_?" he asked in an incredulous tone. He had not foreseen their conversation taking such an abrupt direction, when _she_ was in the position to avoid such words.

"Of course I'm not having a bloody affair. Where did this come from?" he asked as Astoria ceased looking at him. She stood up from the bed and started pacing around the room. She seemed incredibly small to him…she seemed in that minute more like a frustrated teenage girl than a grown up woman.

"You're avoiding me," she said in a low, cold voice, stopping and looking at him as if she were a lioness ready to devour a small lamb.

"I'm not avoiding you. I'm just busy. You know that."

"I'm not talking about that_. Draco…"_ she said her voice becoming softer. She sat down in front of him, taking his hand and placing it on her breast. Draco withdrew it, as if an electric shock made his hair stand on edge. "Why won't you make love to me?" she asked in a small voice.

Draco was lost for words at his wife's sexual frustration. He missed it too, quite a lot if he allowed himself to be honest. But he wanted _it_, not her. Her body was beautiful…it was more than beautiful. Her long legs and perfectly pale back, he once kissed day night. He couldn't get enough of her when they had gotten married. Her perfume was unique and her eyed could see straight into her soul. But he hated her. Every day, in every way more and more. The acrimony in her voice when she spoke to anyone except for Scorpius made him go mad. He could not look at her and wan to make love to her…she seemed, all of a sudden, poisonous.

"So you are having an affair." Astoria stood up abruptly and walked away from the bed. Her voice was calm and cold, but the thunder clouds were starting to show.

"I am not having an affair," said Draco standing up as well and followed Astoria. He was at the point of exasperation. He even felt a little sorry for her…but that did not justify the absence of love he felt towards her. He attempted to place his hand on her arm, to reassure her that he really was faithful to her. Or had been before his body failed to respond to the frozen insides of her soul.

"Take your hand off me," she spat in a poisonous tone. "You're just like your father! You think that the world is down there, at your feet and you can spit on it whenever you have something bitter in your mouth. You're not that special, you know?" Draco's yes became colder, harder and his jaw clenched.

"But don't you see?" he asked in a cold, low voice.

"See what?" she asked, lighting a cigarette between trembling fingers. The smoke blocked her face for a while, giving Draco a break from her acrimonious features.

"You've just painted a description of yourself."

"Get out. GET OUT! GO!" she screamed, throwing several vases in his direction that shattered in his protective spell and fell in pieces all over the floor. Her eyes were filled with tears as he walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him and murmuring something too inaudible to be heard even by the walls. She was better off in the other man's arms, he thought. His no longer wanted to hold her.

Rose Weasley seemed troubled. Her eyebrows were tensed and she tossed and turned from side to side, seeking desperately for a peaceful sleep. Hermione realised that something was troubling the little girl when she arrived in the bedroom, but Rose had not been very cooperative in sharing her heart's heaviness with her mother. She just went to sleep as soon as she laid her head on the pillow. Hugo on the other hand seemed to be fighting dragons in his sleep, for his little arms were moving everywhere and he was murmuring something in a language Hermione could not completely comprehend.

She looked at the clock. Quarter after one. She breathed out a heavy sight, wishing that sleep could just come. She felt it to be a rebellious teenager, staying at some forbidden party long after its curfew. She wanted to ground sleep, for it was the only thing that gave her peace from constant image of Ron falling into the infernal abyss of a green light. Her throat felt dry…sandpaper dry and she felt the urge to drink something cold. With one reassuring look at her sleeping children, Hermione tiptoed out of the room and headed towards the Malfoy kitchens.

The dungeon corridors were dark, but it didn't take her long to make her way up the stairs and into the vast rooms filled with thousands of ingredients that sent her pregnant senses on edge. And just like that, a glass of cold water in the moonlight coming through the magical windows was no longer enough to satisfy her. She wanted strawberries…their sweet taste bather her tongue and she sat down on a chair, eating them slowly and savouring their strong aroma. Her eyes ran over the green grass and the silvery rays emitted by the moon. How long had it been since she breathed fresh air that didn't make her hungry with some mysterious aroma within it? Her feet were itching for a walk outside…maybe she would find sleep hidden behind the Malfoy rose bushes. Without a second thought, she made her way out of the dungeons, through a vast room with French windows and at last, through an open French window in a windy corner that made white curtains dance in the night.

She breathed in the fresh air that engulfed her senses…as if she were never to breathe in again. It was a rather nice September night; the sky was clear and the wind did not have the strength to make her feel cold. She stared walking, one foot in front of the other, feeling quite a lot like a newborn child learning how to walk again. Thoughts of her own mother entered her mind and threatened to disturb her newly found peace. Was she worried? Was she safe? What if Death Eaters captured her? She refused to let the tears run down on her cheeks. She had to be strong now.

Hermione walked and walked and walked, but tiredness did not arrive. She emptied her mind of all thoughts as she walked, refusing to think or Ron, her children, both born and unborn…their situation. She just concentrated on finding sleep until she arrived on a rather small and narrow wall of roses. The smell was so prominent that she could not resist going it. Their red was bloodied even in the dark of the night and she felt them taking control over her sense, making her walk forward and think of nothing but their indulging smell. She veered left and continued to walk, absent minded, until she saw a bench waiting a few feet away from her. Her first instinct was to walk to it and sit down to allow her feet to rest for a while. But it was then that she saw Draco Malfoy sitting down there, with a glass of Firewhisky as his only companion.

He did not see Hermione's approaching silhouette until she stood right in front of him. Her expression gave out mixed feelings…on the one had she wanted to run back to the safety of the dungeons, yet on the other hand she felt compelled to find out why Draco was sitting down on the bench, half drunk and quite upset at nearly two o'clock in the morning. She refused to ignore the rational side of her mind and she sat down next to him, making his eyes look up from his daydreaming point in a surprised way. "Granger," he acknowledged in a calmer voice than she thought would come out of his lips. He sounded almost as if he had expected her.

"Weasley," she corrected yet again, but a small smile was playing on her lips. He did not seem that drunk after all.

Draco's lips also curved into a half smile. "I don't care," he said rather playfully. "Don't you realize you will always be a Granger to me?" He looked at her properly for the first time that night.

"Why is that?" she asked, relaxing slightly.

"Because you don't have red hair. And you're a bookworm."

"Why are you up so late?" she asked, finding that a topic about the Weasleys acted as salt on a freshly inflicted wound.

"I might ask you the same question."

"I couldn't sleep," she said looking at his grey eyes and pale features illuminated by the moonlight. There was something that was very attractive hidden deep beneath his emotionless mask.

"Neither could I," he said, finding her brown eyes warm and tender…kind. He hadn't seen such eyes in a rather long time and he found, quite annoyingly, that he missed such warmth. "Would you care for some?" he asked as he pushed his glass of half drunk Firewhisky towards Hermione.

"No," she said rather quickly. Truth to be told, she _yearend_ to get drunk and forget. But there was a little human developing inside of her…a little human that she loved quite a lot, because it was Ron's last gift for her. She pushed him out of her mind as soon as he entered, afraid that she would end up in tears on Draco Malfoy. Besides, she thought, she wanted this little silly moment for herself. It made her feel as if she were yet again at Hogwarts, trying something new…being friends with the enemy. But he was no longer the enemy.

Draco wanted to say how sorry he was for her loss. He wanted to say how sorry he was for Ron's death. But, he thought, if her were to express his condolences, he would have to do so with lies. He was not sorry that the weasel was dead. He never liked Ron. But _this_ Hermione was a different story. Her hair was pulled back in a low pony tail and the freckles on her small nose were visible even in the moonlight. And her eyes…her kind eyes compelled him. He felt bewitched. He blamed this irrationality of the alcohol.

He blamed kissing her on the alcohol too. Before he could stop himself, he was close to her…too close to her. She looked up at him with wondering eyes, but did not move away. She didn't protest when his lips crushed hers and when his tongue entered her mouth, starting to dance with her own. He could feel tears running on her cheeks and then she started shaking, as if she saw something that greatly bothered her in her mind. But he didn't stop kissing her. He kissed her more, his hands drew her closer, before she broke away and slapped him across the face. Even that felt sweeter than anything he'd ever experienced.

"How dare you?" she asked as tears sprang from her eyes like droplets of rain. "My husband…."she started but didn't have the strength to continue, because the tears broke her down into desperate sobs. Draco stood up from the bench and enclosed her in a hug. She protested at first, fighting his strong arms, but then the feelings of safety and warmness overwhelmed her as she found herself weeping her heart out in the arms of Draco Malfoy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight- Saving Lilies**

**September 2013 **

The little red haired witch hugged herself closer as the cold bit her flesh and made it tremble. She was getting used to the smell of mould and the grassy lichens every time she touched the walls with her small fingers. Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness that encompassed her and if she focused her vision enough, she could make out how small the prison cell really was. It had been the darkness that made it seem vast and full of monsters, she thought. For she was not like her cousin; the darkness made her uneasy and scared. It made her feel lonely and endangered. She felt the tears prickling her eyes, as they fell over her cheeks in vast numbers. She wanted mummy and daddy. She did not like the masked, hooded figures; they made the hairs on her arms stand up alerted each time _they_ entered to bring her water..._just water_, for she had not seen food since they brought her here. She had grown used to the sound of her alert breathing and her heart beating hard against her rib cage. How much longer, she wondered?

She heard the sound of approaching footsteps, a door opening, slamming shut and then deafening silence once more. Uneasiness was creeping at the door and the tears started residing in her eyes, hanging all their belongings in the vast green wardrobes, waiting to water the overgrown brown eyelashes. A quiet sob escaped her mouth as her bleeding arm started throbbing. She wanted mom.

"I think it's time."

"Do you, now?" answered Lucius Malfoy's sarcastic deep voice. His Death Eater mask was staring at him from the table, where he had placed it. If it had a mind of its own, it would have shouted _traitor_. But it didn't. He had one hand around his cane, the green sapphire eyes of the serpent staring coldly at those who it once honoured. It was prepared to bite.

"Dominus gave us precise orders," said a rather young looking Death Eater sitting in front of Lucius at the round table. "We have the blood, now all we need to do is find the book."

"Ahh...and I presume you are.._.clueless_ regarding the whereabouts of the text?"

"From the tone of your voice, Lucius, one might say this pleases you," said the deep voice of a hooded, masked figure as he entered the room. Lucius' face became a few degrees cooler. It pleased him beyond means to fool the brainless "child" Death Eaters recruited by Dominus Blackwell. But the old clan, he could not play games with.

"Don't be ridiculous, Rodolphus," said Lucius recognising the voice to belong to his dead, deranged sister in law's widowed husband. "I desire to bring him back as much as you do." Rodolphus Lestrange removed the mask from his face, his hood falling back. There was an old scar, running red and blotched, from the left corner of his mouth to his ear, bringing his left eye down, ever so unnaturally. He placed a bloodied dagger on the table, not bothering to wipe it on his robe. Lucius did not want to guess whose blood that was. He hoped it was not too late.

"I don't doubt you, Lucius. But I don't like your games. You've always played them, hiding your true meaning from the understanding of others." He laughed a little, a cold, sardonic laugh. "But today, I have a game for you, if you're so inclined." The smile he offered made his face crumble into a caricature. "She didn't scream once, when I cut her flesh to take the blood that would bring him back. Not once. She's what? Five? I'm not good with children...if Bella and I would have had any of our own, they would not have survived past the age of three." Lucius raised his eyebrows at Rodolphus' confession. "Why don't you finish the job for me? Make her scream once or twice before you end it, will you? It would bring music to my ears, Lucius."

Malfoy senior's jaw clenched and then unclenched, as his ice eyes pierced Rodolphus. "How long has it been _Luce? _You know...since you spilled such innocent blood. You're getting out of shape, old man," continued Rodolphus. "One murder would grant you such a good night's sleep. Oh, _come on_, make up your mind. Maybe I should do it, if you don't have it in your blood anymore..."

"No," said Lucius standing up, holding his cane a little harder than necessary. He wanted to hit the head of his deranged relative. How perfect Bella and Rodolphus had been for each other. "No, I'll do it," he continued heading towards the Cruplud dungeons as Rodolphus started laughing manically. "Lily Potter dies again...funny how history tends to repeat itself, isn't it?" Rodolphus' voice echoed in his ears as Lucius swore under his breath and veered left.

Astoria Malfoy paced around her drawing room, her hands clenched around a crumpled piece of parchment. The long, green silk dress made her seem taller and slimmer than she really was as it swished passed corners of furniture ever so fashionably. She had brought it especially for this day. But now she was contemplating whether or not to throw it in the fire along with _his _letter. Should she really be playing this game? Yet again? She let out a sight as she collapsed into a nearby armchair throwing her head in her arms. _I'm a whore_, she though.

"No...I'm not," she said to herself, becoming horrified at her revelation. "I need this..._him_..." she continued reassuring herself. She would not cry, whatever happened, she would not cry. It was all Draco's fault that she ended up in this situation. He made her weak. He made her like this, she thought, finding the feeling of blaming _it _on someone else rather satisfying. She even managed a little smile. No...she deserved this, she thought. She stood up from the little armchair and adjusted her high, elegant brown bun, after which she started pacing around the drawing room yet again, hands around the letter she now knew by heart. But it was not good to leave behind clues, she thought. She stopped pacing, re-read the letter just to make sure she didn't miss out anything and then threw it in the chimney, where guilty flames consumed it, turning it into black ash.

Before she had time to sit down again in her doubt and self inflicted misery, the door of the drawing room opened fast and wide to reveal the solid, manly figure of _him_. "Good morning," he said, the deep voice making the little hairs on Astoria's arms stand up with desire. She stood up from the small armchair and walked towards him, "You're late. I was beginning to worry you wouldn't make it."

"Yes well, busy time at the Ministry, Mrs Malfoy. I told you so in my letter," he said his voice hardening.

"Please, don't call me that. Not now...today I am _just_ Astoria," she said, looking away and moving towards the window sill. Outside it was starting to rain, the trees were losing their manes and the grass was becoming slightly yellow. She sighted, before she felt his strong hand caressing her neckline.

"Well then, Astoria, you are very _beautifu_l today." He started kissing her neck, very gently as his arms drew her closer. But she moved away. Today she didn't like the feeling of being loved. It was happening too fast...she felt like a common prostitute. She was having an affair, they were supposed to be in love, they were supposed to have things in common. They were supposed to have things to say to each other. "Let's talk," she said moving away from him.

"Talk?"

"Yes, talk. I'm going insane in this manor! It's not so hard to talk. You just open your mouth and the words come out. You make me feel as if I am paying you for your..._services_," she said in an agitated voice. "Really, it's insulting," she continued. His grey eyes softened for a moment as he looked at her distressed features.

So she wanted to talk, he thought. She wanted a _companion_ that fulfilled her desires when her husband was absent. He on the other hand, was just interested in her body. It was satisfying to make the wife on another man, his alone for the day. He looked at his pocket watch, and upon realising that he had some time to spare, he decided to play her game. After all, it was all just a game. For her as well as for him and he knew it. "Fair enough, Mrs Malfoy..."

"Stop calling me that!" she snapped. His jaw clenched. But he really didn't have the energy for this. Of all the women he could have chosen for the day, he had made the mistake to pick her. Why did she have to be so...cranky and uncooperative? Either way, he was bound to have it his way. "I deeply apologise, Astoria. You clearly are in no condition to.._.play_ today. I think it would be best for me to go. I bid you goodbye." He turned around to face the door and smiled at himself. _One, two, three_...he thought.

"No, wait!" she said in a calm voice, attempting to hide how desperate she really was. "I'm sorry. I just had a fight with Draco last night...you caught me in a bad phase, that's all. Come to me," she finished extending her hand. He turned around, unfastened his long and immaculate navy coloured cloak and threw it on a nearby armchair. "Let me show you a _different_ way of talking...I think that you will like the words I use..." he whispered in her ear as he embraced her. And she didn't object when his hands started unzipping her green silk dress, revealing her pale, long back. He ran his fingers upon her soft flesh and spelt words that made her close her eyes with excitement. She started kissing his neck and undoing his tie as he continued to _speak _to her words of their desired forbidden adultery.

Hermione swore under her breath. It was only the second corridor she had finished dusting, and her stomach had started rumbling yet again. She looked around the deserted corridor for a while, just to make sure no one would come out of some hidden room, and upon seeing that she was all alone, took from her "grey with dust and dirt" apron pocket a house elf made cereal bar that Melvin had given her before she started her chores that day. If she recalled correctly, he also said that he had never met a human whose stomach rumbled quite as much as hers did. So he gave her ten cereal bars. They were quite big. And this was her last one. She contemplated whether she should go down to the kitchens and ask for more, but the thought of going down so many flights of stairs disarmed her. She felt rather tired and decided to sit down on the carpeted floor for a moment and think of something else. She closed her eyes. Then opened them immediately. Because every time her eyelashes met, the image of herself crying her heart out in the arms of Draco Malfoy haunted her. She could still feel his tender lips on her own as he kissed her. She slapped her forehead and internally called herself many _not very nice names_. How could she have done that, she thought. Ron's face entered her mind every time she used the letter "D". Ron's face was crumpled into a sheet of emotions and accusations. And the worst part of it all was that the accusations within her mind had rights. They had the right to be thrown at her because she enjoyed the memory of that forbidden kiss. She enjoyed being in his strong arms and feeling so protected and safe and...no longer lonely. Despite the guilt she felt towards Ron, she did not want to erase what had happened the previous night between herself and Draco. She felt her eyes watering, so she decided to think of something else.

She wondered if Rose felt any better. She remembered how troubled the little girl seemed the previous night when she came to bed...she could even recall seeing a few dry tears on her cheeks. When she woke up that morning, she complained of a headache, so Hermione had let her lie in bed, while Hugo when to play with Scorpius. She knew Rose would share her heavy heart with her mother when she could no longer handle it on her own, but Hermione feared that for once, Rose's sadness didn't spring from the loss of her dad.

The sound of shattered glass interrupted Hermione's train of though. She stood up form the floor rather abruptly, throwing what was left of her last cereal bar back in her apron pocket. She resumed dusting the furniture and watering the plant pots, believing that someone would soon come out of one of the many rooms on that corridor. But no one did and the curiosity started biting her flesh. She wondered if there was some secret ingredient within the cereal bars that made her act more irrationally, for she placed the water bottle and the duster on a side table and started going, slowly, in the direction from which she heard the glass breaking. But there were no other noises to guide her and she believed it would be suicidal to open each door and shout "who's there?" like a megalomaniac. It wasn't even her bloody house, she thought. "Ahh...the boredom," she whispered to herself. She was about to turn around and resume her servant chores, when the sound of muffled voices stopped her dead in her tracks yet again. She sharpened her ears, but no more voices came. In any case, she knew what room they had come from. She tiptoed to the right hand side of the corridor until she was in front of a mahogany, dark brown door. She kneeled and peered through the keyhole. And then she gasped and felt like running away from the image of Astoria Malfoy and Dominus Blackwell naked on the floor, their bodies busy in a war of adulterous love, a shattered flower vase not far off.

Lucius Malfoy swore yet again that day, when his lumos light revealed a little girl, bruised and bloodied, in the far end of the Cruplud dungeon cell. She was holding her injured arm close to her chest and seemed to him to be asleep for she did not acknowledge his presence. He started approaching, slowly, then mentally swore again when he realized she had no shoes on. It was so cold. There was a teddy bear not far off from where she was sitting, and the dragon pattern on her clothes was still visible through the dirt and blood patches from her arm. It seemed to him that she had been kidnapped out of her bed in the middle of the night and he felt a surge to torture Rodolphus Lestrange into oblivion before killing him. Yet he had to admit, the man had been right. He was truly becoming softer with age. He wondered where Draco was, for according to their plan they were supposed to meet in the dungeons. He cast a non verbal spell and the barred door to her dungeon cell opened, squeaking and screaming in protest.

The sound woke Lily up, for she stood, rather abruptly, and upon seeing the hooded figure moved to the far end of her cell in fear. Her breathing hardened and she seemed ready to cry. "Shhh..." whispered Lucius, feeling rather stupid. He wondered if it would be better to cast the Imperius curse on her, just to make sure she does not scream as he tries to save her. After all, it did not help that he was dressed like a Death Eater. But the idea of using an Unforgivable Curse on such a young child was soon abandoned. So he took his strongest paternal qualities in his hands and approached the little girl. "I'm not going to hurt you, Lily," he said softly, but the little girl didn't move. "I'm going to get you back to mommy. You just have to trust me, okay?" _Draco Malfoy, where the hell are you_? He thought.

"No!" the girl said stubbornly. "You're like them."

"I am just dressed like them, to get you out. I promise, I'm not one of them. Not anymore," he added without her hearing. He took his hood off and offered her a small smile. Lily's features didn't soften. He stepped inside the cell towards her and made the tears that were in her eyes run down her cheeks. "Please don't hurt me," she sobbed, as Lucius grabbed her injured arm and cast a quick healing spell. When she saw that her arm was no longer throbbing with pain, Lily looked up at the tall blonde stranger and wondered if he was telling the truth. "We don't have much time, love. Do you trust me?" he asked and kneeled to meet her green orbs with his icy warm stare. Lily nodded once and Lucius offered her yet another smile. She smiled back.

"That's a good girl," he said. "Now, here's what I need you to do. On the count of three, I want you to scream as loud as you can."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"Because they think I came to hurt you, and they must think I am on their side," continued Lucius trying not to lose his patience. The girl was certainly a lot like her father, which, he had to admit, he had not particularly liked. Lily nodded and within seconds, the entire dungeon was filled with echoes of her high pitched voice, screaming until she had to draw in air.

"Good," said Lucius. "Again," he said and Lily once more screamed her lungs out, but then stopped abruptly as her vision became dizzy and her knees buckled. "Oh, oh, oh...that's okay, love," said Lucius catching her before she could faint. She was certainly weak after not eating since she had been kidnapped. He picked her up as her frail arms enclosed around his neck. She laid her head on his shoulder. "Should we get him out too, Lily?" asked Lucius pointing towards the abused teddy bear. Lily nodded once and despite the fact that Lucius felt very silly, he levitated the cuddly thing into mid air for Lily to catch it and hug it to her chest. "My leg hurts," she sobbed quietly into his dark cloak. "I'll have a look as soon as we get out, love. You need to be strong now. Just close your eyes and try to think of something else. What's the name of your teddy bear?" he asked trying to distract her. He was getting slightly worried about his son's whereabouts, but decided that Draco was perfectly capable of taking down the silly "child" Death Eaters with his eyes closed. "He doesn't have one," replied Lily. "What's your name?" she asked holding on to Lucius for dear life.

He hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Luce." Merlin, he hated the sound of that, despite the fact that it was Narcissa's favourite "cuddly" name for him. He even cringed a little. He veered left through the dungeons, hoping to find Draco, but there was still no sign of his son.

"I'll call the teddy, Luce," said Lily.

"It's not a very nice name, Lily," said Lucius trying to convince her otherwise. It was true that he was no longer a Death Eater, but Merlin, having young children call their _teddy bears_ after him was a little too farfetched.

"I know," she replied and Lucius chuckled. "But you saved my life."

A moment of silence followed, in which Lucius tried not to let her sweetness get to him too much. But before either of them could say anything else, a sharp hawk call made them stop in their tracks. "Finally," said Lucius in a deep, irritated voice. The hawk's call came again, guiding them to veer left down a narrow, dark corridor until they reached a heavy wooden door. "Now what?"

There were no more hawk calls. "Draco?"

No reply.

"Draco, shift back," said his father in a worried voice. There was still no reply. It was too dark for him to see the bird and he contemplated whether it was too dangerous to use the lumos spell. He mentally swore again, placed Lily gently on the ground, took his wand out and was about to charm the corridor with yellow light, when Lily tugged at his cloak and whispered, "He's there." Lucius could just about make out a dark corner where a flicker of white feathers moved ever so slightly as if in pain. He swore out loud.

"You said a bad word," whispered Lily in awe. The hawk made a small, mocking cry, as if he was laughing at the situation in which they found themselves. Lucius ignored Lily as he gently picked the bird up and held it close to his chest, hoping that Draco was not too injured. "There are no Death Eaters behind this door, right son?" he asked gently. The hawk made a small affirmative noise. "You'll be fine. I think your wing is broken...try not to move. I know it hurts," he said when the hawk cried in pain as Lucius adjusted him against his chest. He took Lily's hand, and, after casting a non-verbal spell, the wooden door opened, engulfing the entire corridor in white, morning light. It was precisely this bright light that allowed Lucius to see Draco was suffering from far more than just a broken wing.

And then they disapparated.

There was a small pop in the air, as Lucius Malfoy apparated into the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, holding his hawk-son gently against him. He smiled a little at the image of Lily Potter kissing his cheek before he obliviated her memory and disapparated from the Burrow's front door. In society, he still wore a Death Eater mask. When he walked the streets of Diagon Alley, on his way to vast golden vault in Gringrotts, people still hid in dark corners as he passed them. He was still required to attend Death Eater meetings and pretend to kill little girls whose blood was beyond precious. He felt the hands of a little headache pulling at his temples as he took Draco into a dungeon dormitory that once belonged to servants. At least there was no chance of Scorpius and Astoria finding them there.

Lucius placed the Animagus-ed Draco on the bed and, after pointing his wand at him, the white and brown bloodied feathers disappeared into a mass of pale flesh and blonde hair. Lucius covered his son's naked body with the blanket, his eyebrows tensing at his bloodied abdomen, the unhealthy tone of his skin and his sweaty forehead. There were approximately five deep, long cuts, slicing his flesh, draining him of blood, just below the chest. Draco groaned.

"They saw me shifting..." he said in a weak voice. "There were...six of them...young and stupid...but...they had...wand...they had wands...and..."

"Shhh..." said Lucius placing a hand on his son's forehead. He was burning with a fever. "What did they curse you with?"

"Dad...I..I..."

"It's okay, calm down son," continued Lucius. "I need to know what they cursed you with. Can you remember? Draco stay with me." His father's deep and rather loud voice acted as an invisible barrier to him falling into unconsciousness.

"I killed them...I killed them all...I...I..." he babbled looking at his hands as if he could still see the blood. The remorse made him feel physically sick as he turned a pale shade of green. "They were young...young and stupid...but...I had to...I had to..."

"You did what you had to do. Draco, I know what it feels like to kill someone...but we wouldn't have saved the Potter child otherwise...it's better this way. I'm going to ask you one more time, what did they curse you with?"

"One was barely over seventeen...just a child...they will find out it was us..."

"I will deal with this later. It will be okay," said Lucius thinking how easily he could fool the other newly recruited Death Eaters. He would think of Rodolphus later. Maybe a lie about them being secret Order agents...he had to get rid of them, otherwise they would have prevented him killing the Potter child.

"I killed them..."

"DRACO!" roared his father. "You are bleeding excessively. What. Did. They. Curse. You. With?"

"_Sectumsempra..."_

"Right. Right..." he said feeling a layer of sweat breaking through his forehead. "Draco, whatever you do, do not fall asleep. You need to fight it. I need to go down to the Potions lab and get the healing elixir. Can you be strong, son? Think of... Scorpius." Draco gave a weak nod as Lucius flew out of the room.

Astoria Malfoy was cheating on her husband. Astoria Malfoy was having an affair with Dominus Blackwell. Hermione felt slightly dizzy and suddenly, the weight of kissing Draco was not as heavy as she first thought. She wasn't even hungry anymore. But the need to lie down for a while became more and more prominent. So she abandoned the duster in a nearby broom cupboard and made her way down to the dungeons. Surely, no one would observe her absence for an hour. Astoria _certainly _wouldn't. As for Melvin and the house elf clan, they were too bust cooking the "perfect side dish" to go with the salmon, if she recalled correctly. "_We only cook it once a year..."_ she said mockingly as she opened the door to her servant bedchamber. And then she gasped.

"Draco?" she asked, her mouth hanging open at the image of Malfoy, looking quite naked, under her covers. Merlin, she saw way too many naked people that day. He also seemed to be bleeding rather excessively and she tried to ignore the feeling of dread within her stomach. She looked around horrified, hoping that Rose was not still in the room. But there was no sign of the little girl.

"_Hermione..." _said Draco in a weak voice, feeling a little more alerted and less likely to fall asleep.

Hermione approached the bed and placed her hands to her mouth upon seeing his parted, bleeding flesh. "My God, Draco, what happened to you?" Before she could stop herself, she sat down by him, looking helplessly for her wand. "I'll heal you in a minute..." she continued her hands shaking.

"Don't worry...father's on his way. Just keep me awake...please..." he whispered in a drained voice.

"You look terrible," she said.

"Really?" he asked mockingly, and even managed a little smile.

"Who did this to you?" she asked, not protesting when he got hold of her hand. His were shaking too, from the loss of so much blood.

"I'll tell you another time..." he said and his eyes closed.

Hermione placed a hand on his forehead, "Don't fall asleep. Draco, look at me." When he opened his eyes, her face was much closer to his.

"Tempted to kiss me, Granger?" he asked mockingly.

Hermione felt herself blush. "I don't think you're fit to make jokes, Malfoy."

_Yes, I am tempted to kiss you. _

"It might keep me awake," he added.

"You're stretching it, Malfoy," snapped Hermione attempting a hard voice, but only a mere whisper left her lips. She felt herself blush yet again. "Where are your clothes?"

"I...I can't remember," he said in a sincere voice, as his eyes started rolling inside his head. Hermione started panicking. "Draco, stay with me," she said and tried not to think of the second way she meant that sentence. _Ron, I only meant him to stay awake. I love you, Ron. Ron, Ron, Ron. _

_I'm sorry._

When Draco didn't respond, she kissed him, her lips attempting to give him a little energy, just enough to open his eyes. Brown orbs locked grey orbs in a meaningful glare. His eyelashes were flickering, fighting the desire to fall into a sleep that could be eternal. Hermione's soft features blurred and un-blurred_._ His awakening feelings towards her blurred and un-blurred. He felt confused but he didn't mind this confusion, as long as her hand was still squeezing his own. A little too tightly. "You know..." but before he could finish the sentence, the door opened and Lucius Malfoy walked back in the room, various potions following him levitated in mid air obediently.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, looking a little agitated.

"I usually sleep here. I'm the servant. I was just trying to keep your son awake," said Hermione, or Anna, taking a few steps back.

"It's fine, dad," said Draco. Lucius's attention focused back on Draco, who seemed even paler than he was when he left him. He sat down by his side and started administering various potions, making Draco cringe and whimper. Hermione watched from the corner of the room as his parted flesh came back together, as the blood stopped leaving his body and as his flesh became a more natural colour. When Lucius finished, Draco was asleep, no longer sweating and no longer in pain. Hermione gave a small smile and she felt relieved. But the idea of Draco Malfoy naked under her covers made the little hairs on her arm stand up. She dismissed the thought. Lucius looked a little longer at his son, placed his hand over his forehead and for a moment seemed to want to kiss his forehead. But before Hermione could witness such a paternal action, Lucius stood up and faced her.

"Miss Granger," he acknowledged and it was time for Hermione's flesh to become paler. She immediately started feeling her face and looking at her arms. "The appearance-alteration charms are still in place, don't worry. The servant, eh?"

Hermione opened her mouth but no words came out. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried again. "How did you see past them?"

"I didn't. The scar on your arm...I was there when Bellatrix...well...I'm sure you remember," he continued feeling slightly uncomfortable as Hermione looked at what he once believed labelled her. "I saw it when you served lunch the other day."

"Did you, now?" she asked a little defensively.

"I'm no longer a Death Eater, Miss Granger. And quite frankly, I do approve of my son's idea of keeping you here. Right under the enemy's nose." He said in a deep voice, taking a step towards her.

"What scar gave that away?" she asked sarcastically, but internally felt a little more relaxed. He seemed...sincere.

"No scar. But my son should learn to master legilimency a little better. Let's just say I saw it in his head when searching for something."

"Do you go through your son's head on a daily basis?" she continued, holding up her shield.

"Just when he's about to die." Lucius' voice became harder. _How dare she talk to him like that. He was a pure blood and she was a...no, Lucius. Those days are over, remember? Her blood is...good. Ahh...he still cringed a little at the thought of becoming so..._accepting of others. Blood status no longer mattered to him. But he still had to say it every morning when he looked into the mirror.

"So what cursed him?" asked Hermione, looking towards Draco who was soundly sleeping in her bed.

"Ahh...I'm afraid that is his story to tell. Will you return the favour, Miss Granger?"

"Weasley," she corrected.

"Right."

A moment of silence followed. She wondered why it was so hard for a Malfoy to accept calling her a Weasley. "What favour?" she asked.

"He saved your life."

"That, he did."

"I shall leave him here tonight, then." Hermione was about to protest, but Lucius continued. "Scorpius and Astoria cannot see him like this. He should be okay by tomorrow, but I would feel better if someone watched over him tonight. I have some...business to attend to. I'm sure I'm leaving him in good hands." He even gave her a small, cold smile. But still, she knew it was a sincere smile. "Fine," she said, half mourning, half joyful. She felt like slapping herself with a wet fish across the face. _Fine? Really?_

"I'll come back with some clothes for him," said Lucius realising how uncomfortable Hermione was becoming.

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea."

Lucius nodded once and walked out of the room, leaving an injured Slytherin in the hands of a Gryffindor yet again. And despite everything, despite all the internal swearing and kicking and screaming and despite the monstrous guilt that was eating her alive with Ron's eyes, Hermione sat down by Draco's bedside and wiped his forehead with a wet cloth.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine—Father of petals**

**September 2013**

Draco Malfoy's straight nose was of particular interest to Hermione Weasley, or Granger, as he insisted on calling her. It was met by two symmetrical arched dark blonde eyebrows that contoured his face and declared it perfectly oval. His long eyelashes casted wing like shadows over his pale cheeks, where, if she looked closely enough, she could just about make out a rasp of beard growing. He needed a shave. She could not remember seeing the evidence of his beard at Hogwarts. But then again, she thought, she had never been close to him at school. But now, the closer she looked, the more she discovered and the more uneasy she became. He looked almost angelic in his sleep. Could she have been completely mistaken about his persona for all those years in which they declared themselves enemies?

His mouth, the mouth that she had kissed was almost heart shaped. But the lips were dry and chopped...having survived the fever of the previous night. Ron's nose had been wider. She could almost see it flaring with anger and betrayal. She took her eyes off Draco and abruptly stood up form the bed, angry with herself, angry at the world and angry with Ronald Billius Weasley for not being as alive as Draco Malfoy was. She shouldn't have kissed him, she thought. She shouldn't have broken down in his arms and cried like a stupid little girl. She should have been stronger. She should have dignified the name of Gryffindor. Her train of angry thoughts was interrupted by a sharp pain in her lower abdomen. She placed her hand on the wall, leaned on it, breathed in an out a few seconds and hoped it would pass. She wondered whether this pregnancy would be as difficult as the last one and collapsed in a nearby armchair, placing her head in her arms and exhaling a long breath, hoping it would eliminate all the uneasy and shameful feelings she was slowly developing for two very different men. Or one, since her husband was... dead.

"You look distressed." Hermione looked up startled to meet a very awake Draco. He was leaning on his elbows, his head tilted towards her, his eyes rather curious.

"You look better," she said choosing to ignore his first comment. Yes, she would ignore. Ignorance was the best option she had. Otherwise she would explode. And she didn't completely understand why, if she allowed herself to be truthful.

"You don't," he insisted. "You actually look quite pale."

"I'm fine," she added through gritted teeth. She sort of hated him that moment. Or rather, hated the feelings within her that arose every time he addressed her. She felt insecure. She felt silly and she felt immature. "If you feel better, maybe you should go to your wife."She regretted the words as soon as they escaped her mouth. She looked away, blaming her strange behaviour on her hormone levels.

He snorted. "Last night you didn't seem to mind that I was here."

"Last night you were dying. I didn't have a choice."

"And now you do?"

"Yes, now I do!" she snapped again, standing up from the armchair and pacing around the room.

"Funny, Granger, I thought this was my house."

Hermione exhaled a long breath and sat down on the armchair again, half defeated. She didn't have the energy for this. Melvin and the house elves would have a go at her for being late, she still had three corridors in the east wing of the house to clean and she wondered what other great mysteries she was bound to encounter that day.

"It's Weasley. And I don't think this is prudent. We are both married and..."

"Technically, you are widowed," he added standing up from the bed, and coming towards her. He regretted his choice of words for she looked quite ready to cry. He mentally kicked himself and swore at his stupidity. He really should muster his anger better.

"I love Ron," she said determinedly, looking into his grey orbs. "I love my husband," she continued and despite the fact that he had hated her for the past twenty-two years, he couldn't help but feel a little jealous.

"Funny way to show you love him...going around kissing other men," he said sourly, his eyebrows furrowing. He felt stupid. He felt like a skulking little boy.

"What? _What_?" She stood up abruptly, anger boiling within her veins, ready to make them pop and spit at the good looking blonde git standing tall and straight in front of her. "May I remind you, Malfoy, that you were the one who kissed me and that you were drunk!" She spat the words out, placing great emphasis on the fact that he was intoxicated with Firewisky. His eyes became a few degrees cooler.

"Last night was different and you know it."

"Don't be stupid! Last night meant nothing...I was merely trying to keep you awake. That's all," she said and felt herself blushing. Her lie was still the truth...it was still the truth, she thought.

Neither said another word for a few minutes. They stood like abandoned puppets in the middle of the room, looking at different things and trying to reason with the external force that was slowly pulling them towards each other and a mentally irrational relationship.

"I'm glad you feel better, Mr Malfoy, but I think you should go," said Hermione eventually, but avoiding eye contact at all costs.

"Yes, I think that would be...prudent," he said sardonically, placing his emotionless mask back on. "Thank you, Mrs Weasley, for looking after me last night and I apologise for any inconvenience that I have caused you. From now on, I believe we will maintain a strictly servant/master relationship. After all, this is what you are here for. Good day," he said and walked out of the room before Hermione had the chance to say another word. And despite the fact that she convinced her mind to hate him, her heart compelled her eyes to shed a few tears that she chose to ignore.

Rose Weasley sneezed once, then sneezed again as the dust from the highest book shelve she could reach covered her from head to toe. She had been given the chore to "clean" one of the many drawing rooms on the second floor of the house, since she was no longer allowed outside in the gardens after her little incident with the carnivorous plant. But Rose Weasley was angry. She was tried, she wanted to constantly moan and she didn't get a good night's sleep since she and Hugo were made to sleep in a separate dungeon room for reasons she could not completely comprehend. She had not even seen Hermione that morning. At precisely eight o'clock a house elf popped in the room, ushered them both out of bed, sent Hugo to play and Rose to clean. She was really starting to hate house elves.

She stood on her tiptoes, hoping to reach a higher shelf, but then gave up and threw her dusting cloth on the floor, making a few of the nearby books tremble with her discomfort. She wanted to scream in frustration but she thought she ought not to in case trouble came knocking at her door yet again. She wondered if the furniture could bite.

"Umm...Rose?" she turned around and tried her best not to scream WHAT and say she couldn't be bothered to work that day, that she wanted to be a normal kid and that she missed her father. But when her eyes fell upon the soft and calm features of Scorpius Malfoy her anger lowered by a few levels. "Hi Scorpius," she said in a small voice.

The little boy looked towards the corridor from which he came to make sure that no one was around and then he started approaching her. "I'm...sorry about what my father said. You know...that we aren't allowed to play and all that."

Rose looked down at her dusty shoes, at her dirty apron that served as a constant reminder that she was nothing more than a servant girl. She was supposed to befriend the duster, the house elves and the furniture, not the wizards of the house. "Well...I am nothing more than a servant, Scorpius," she said. "Your father was right..."

"No, he wasn't," whispered Scorpius, taking a few steps towards her. "Your mom may be a servant, but everything that he makes you do, the house elves do again."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that he doesn't take you seriously as a servant. He just gives you chores so you have something to do...yesterday I've seen house elves dust the places that you already dusted. Which is great," he added with a small smirk.

"What do you mean it's great? You are telling me that I am wasting my time...that my work is pointless and that my life will be as pointless as my work," said Rose close to tears. She missed reading and writing...she missed playing with Hugo and she missed being a normal child awaiting her Hogwarts letter.

"I mean it's great because you can get away with not doing chores. If we're really careful we can be friends...if you want that is," he added going slightly red and then looking away.

"Scorpius, your father is smart...he will see..."

"He's not going to check to see if you are working or not, Rose. For all he knows, you could be dusting off some corridor or something like that."

Rose gave Scorpius a little smile. Really, it wasn't that hard to choose. Duster or boy? Boy or duster? The boy had a mouth and a brain. The boy could turn time into fun. The duster only annoyed her and made her angry. "Okay," she said in a small voice. "But we need to find a safe room to play in...your dad could come in your room at any time."

Scorpius grinned and then pulled a straight face. "Yeah...we need to find a different room. Harry will be happy," he added to encourage her.

"Who?"

"Um...your brother?"

"Ah, him," she said and they both started laughing.

"I waited for you last night."

"I'm sorry. I had some business to discuss with my father. I only got in this morning."

"I see. Scorpius asked after you. He said he finished the book you left for him."

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. Knowing Scorpius, it was more likely that he forced an unfortunate house elf to read the book in one night and tell him the core in ten minutes. He made a mental note to ask the house elves later, but smirked a little at the realization that his son was becoming more like him each day. Of course, he thought, Lucius had never been as lenient as he was. Far too often he experienced the wrath of his father's cane upon the soft flesh of his palms. It taught him not to cry, but still, the only reason why he still loved his father was because of his Azkaban sentence. He had come back a changed man. A man, not a monster. A father, not a heart executioner. He could never muster the cruelty to do such a thing to Scorpius. It took his father nearly half of his lifetime to realize that words could sting as much as that blasted serpent cane and that discipline wasn't all about the punishment. They never spoke about these matters, Draco and Lucius, but there were times of tension, of guilty looks and accusing glares when words did not need to be spoken for the air said it all. Still, the relationship between father and son turned out better than Draco had ever anticipated. And for that, he was thankful. And so was Narcissa.

"Draco, are you even listening to what I am saying?" Astoria Malfoy gave her husband an angry glare. But when he looked into her eyes, she lowered her gaze as if his stare made her uneasy. She even started fidgeting with her sleeves, pulling them down, a habit she didn't fully abandon since her Hogwarts years when long sleeves were necessary to hide the bruises, the cuts and sometimes the angry, fearful tears. But now...the sleeves were trying to hide the guilt of pleasure's flesh.

"I'm sorry, I was thinking about something. You were saying...?" he asked and tried his best to pay attention and not think of a certain brown eyed girl down in the Malfoy dungeons. He pushed her out of his mind as soon as her bushy hair broke down the door.

"Scorpius's birthday party. I think we should make the house elves and the servants decorate the West wing of the mansion rather than the East wing. There's more windows, and I think the light would look good on the flying dragon balloons I ordered from Diagon Alley." Her voice was quieter and shakier than normal and she didn't once meet his grey, penetrating orbs.

"Yes, that's a good idea," he said and looked out of the window at the falling rain, feeling half dead. He wondered if the mad man in the dungeons felt like that. He wondered if it was his wife's presence that made his feel like that.

"I was also saying something else," continued Astoria mustering the strength to look him in the eye. The cold tone of her voice made Draco's attention return. It was the first time he looked at her properly that day and she seemed...tried. No, not tried, but like one of those marionettes at the circus that were once the main attraction, but over time, their paint faded, became dull and their smiles disappeared. She seemed a little like a puppet, forgotten by the puppeteer, her strings loose around her. "I think that...maybe we should...take a break."

"A break from what?" he asked even though he knew the answer perfectly well. It just seemed more real if someone else's tongue spoke it.

"Us, Draco. A break from us. Being married, pretending that nothing is going wrong when everything seems to be falling apart. A break from pretending that we are still in love with each other like the day we got married." She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in slowly and letting the words out. "I will never forget what you and your mother did for me. But maybe the only way to save us, is by drifting apart a little."

Draco wanted to add that they had already drifted far apart when she confessed that she slept with another man all those years ago. That there hadn't been a united "us" for a very long time as a result of that mysterious man who he dreamt about murdering, the mysterious man whose name did not matter according to Astoria. And yet...he forgave her. He chose to forget the pain that she caused him. He chose to take her back and her title, the tile of the new Mrs Malfoy was not covered in shameful mud. Each day after that he wondered if he had made the right decision.

"Scorpius doesn't need to know. I thought of this. If we just sleep in separate rooms, spend less time with each other..."

"Well, it is a big mansion," he added, wondering why the only time he had a civilised conversation with his wife was when they were on the verge of breaking up.

"Exactly," she whispered. "I'm not going to let this get to him. He will grow up to be a happy little boy, and we will spend a lot of time with him. We will not be bad parents, Draco." Astoria seemed in need to say her thoughts aloud for a moment, and it seemed to Draco that she did not doubt their ability as parents, but rather her ability as a mother.

"I think it's a good idea. I will get a house elf to move my things to the East wing," he said and without another word he went out of the room, feeling a little, despite the remorse, as if he were breathing a breath of very fresh air.

Astoria said nothing more as he left her in the drawing room. For once they agreed on something. But her irrational side screamed at her and kicked her heart, pinched it, made it bleed. She longed for him to say that she was wrong, that they were not going through a rough time, that they could sort it out together, not alone. She dreaded being alone. When she was alone, she was the insecure little girl that he saved her from at Hogwarts. When he wasn't around she felt the blows and fists and cuts and bruises that she tried her best to hide, until one day she revealed herself to him and he made the pain go away with his touches and kisses. Those days could not be over. Astoria Malfoy was created because he had saved Astoria Greengrass. He gave her the world...and what was she doing? Throwing it back at him without realizing how much she actually needed it? She could not live without her hero, and she felt more ashamed than ever.

Rose felt slightly nervous as she was walking towards the servant dungeon room she now called home. She knew Hermione was waiting for her there and she felt a small lump forming inside her stomach. The lump had been there since the moment Jinxy, the house elf, popped in one of the spare rooms of the Mansion where she was playing with Hugo and Scorpius. Where she dared to be a child and think of toys and books and magical quills and brooms and cauldrons. Not of dusters and cleaners. Jinxy declared that her mother was looking for her, and wanted to be informed of her whereabouts. Before Rose could beg her not to say anything, she disapparated, leaving the little girl rather distressed. She could feel that Hermione was angry even before she faced her, but decided to be a Gryffindor about it. So she didn't knock. She went straight into the room.

Hermione was sitting on the armchair, rubbing her hands as if she had been cleaning dishes the muggle way all day long. Rose looked at her rather pale complexion and sweat droplets on her forehead and realized her mother was not feeling exceptionally well.

"Rose," she said in a surprisingly strong voice. "I've been looking everywhere for you! Where were you all day?"

Rose exhaled a little nervously, thinking that perhaps Jinxy had not informed Hermione of her whereabouts. "Around...the house...you know, dusting off and things," she laughed a little nervously.

"I see," said Hermione. "I thought you were meant to dust the drawing room?"

"I couldn't reach the high shelves, so I decided to clean the small tables on the corridors instead," she said lamely, feeling just how much her mother outsmarted her.

"Rose, you are a terrible liar." Rose went pale and looked down. She _was _a terrible liar. Hermione could easily see through her. "I know it's hard, honey, but we are only here as servants. We must do what the Malfoys tell us to do, at least for now."

"But Hugo gets to play..."

"He's only five years old. He wouldn't know how to..."

"And I'm only seven!" snapped Rose looking up.

"Don't use that tone of voice with me, young lady!" snapped Hermione. Since her argument with Draco that morning, Hermione felt like a time bomb ready to explode. She felt the strange pains and anger on her pregnant hormones. She closed her eyes, took a few breaths in and faced her stubborn daughter yet again. "I need you to be a little more mature, Rose,"

"You always loved Hugo more!" she snapped and felt immature tears forming in her eyes.

"We both know that's not true," cried Hermione alarmed that her daughter made such an accusation. "Rose..."

"I miss dad!" she cried and the tears finally came. "I don't want to be here, I hate this place!"

"And I hate it as much as you do!" cried Hermione getting angry. "But I don't go off with Mr Malfoy reading books and playing," _Merlin Hermione, you are a hypocrite,_ she thought.

"But Scorpius is just a kid! We're just playing...we could be good friends...I'd like to have a friend..."

"WELL YOU CAN'T," she shouted and Rose went quiet as the tears fell down her cheeks in vast numbers. "Honey..."

"Leave me alone," said Rose and ran towards the door. "I want dad, I hate you!" she cried and slammed it shut, leaving Hermione feeling a combination of guilt, anger and sadness. She collapsed in a nearby armchair and caught her head in her hands as the tears finally came.

She ran through the corridors feeling horrible, ashamed and shocked at the poisonous words she threw upon her mother like arrows. Did she really tell her that she hated her? She didn't mean it, she thought quickly and more tears fell as she ran through the dungeon corridors, with no consideration of the direction and no consideration of the intrigued looks the people in the paintings threw upon her. Her mind was replaying the scene that had developed in the dormitory, unable to concentrate upon anything else. It was only when she fell to the floor, after bumping into a rather tall person that her eyes reopened to contemplate her present situation.

"Rose!" snapped Draco Malfoy, "I thought I made it clear to you that there is no running on the corridors...you could knock off a vase...are you all right?" he asked as fresh tears escaped from her blotchy eyes. She stood up, nodded once and ran out of the house through a terrace door, not caring too much whether she was bound to get into even more trouble.

The mansion was making her feel uneasy. It was making her feel angry and selfish. Seeing how much Draco seemed to care about Scorpius made her feel jealous. Where was her father? What had happened to him? Why wasn't he there to make everything seem better and wipe away her tears? Why wasn't he there to make the monsters go away? She let out a small sob as she ran through the garden, through the rose labyrinth, wanting to get lost and yearning to forget the pain that made her muscles ache with the longing of a different life. A life that had been snatched away from her too abruptly. She was only seven. She was just a kid and she wanted to feel like one again.

And as she ran, she lost track of time. The strongly scented roses bathed her emotions, sharpened her pain and bolded her loss. It made the weight of the world seem a hundred and thirteen times heavier. She ran until her feet could no longer carry her, and then collapsed in a small clearing in the middle of the labyrinth, allowing herself to finally cry the tears that had been longing to escape since she learned Ron had died. She buried her face in her hands and cried, wishing the tears could just clean away all the dirty, dusty pain that made her sneeze far too often.

And then she felt a gentle hand caressing her head. She looked up, startled, through unshed tears, but no one was there, so she assumed it was safe to resume crying her heart's contents. But as soon as she drew her kneed together and placed her head on top of them, she felt the same gentle hand squeezing her shoulder. When she looked up again, there were masses of red petals surrounding her in a perfect circle. She abruptly stood up and looked around rather frightened, locking her sadness in her chest for when she was in less bizarre surroundings. Her breathing accelerated and she wondered if it was too hard to find her way out of the labyrinth.

"Rosie?"

Rose's heart skipped a heartbeat. The whisper was so familiar that it sent chills down her spine. She looked around but saw no one.

"Honey?"

"Daddy?" she whispered, turning around in the circle of roses and wondering if she was truly going mad.

And then she saw him. She ran, as if her life depended on it into Ron's arms, which were real, and strong and warm. He bent down and enclosed her in a protective embrace, from where she could do nothing but cry as he whispered shooting words and caressed her back. "How...?" she asked through heartbreaking sobs.

"I'm not too sure, honey, but we don't have much time," said Ron and gently pushed her away from his chest, keeping his hands on her upper arms, to reassure her that he was really there.

"You're not here to stay?" she asked and her eyes re-filled with tears.

"No, Rosie, no one can come back from there. I'm just..."

"Take me with you!" she said and gave him a begging look.

"I can't do that sweetheart," he said and gave her a small smile. "You have so much waiting for you here...you just have to be a brave girl and listen to mommy...don't cry Rosie, I know it's hard. But you'll be okay, you'll be just fine. You have to trust me on this."

"But I miss you," she cried, finding that attempting to stop her tears was impossible. "I want it to go back to how it used to be...I hate it here..."

"I can't blame you on that...this is not the nicest place in the world. But things will get better. I promise they will..."

"No daddy, please take me with you...I don't want to wait for things to get better," she cried close to being hysterical. "Please...I want to stay with you..."

"Come here," said Ron realizing that a conversation with her was pointless since she was far too entangled in her own miserable tears to take into consideration anything he said. He just hugged her close and allowed her to cry, hoping that their embrace was enough to last her a lifetime and hoping that she was destined to be a Gryffindor...a strong Gryffindor like her mother. He gently rubbed her back circularly, until her sobs quietened and she just lay in his embrace with her eyes closed, trying to kidnap her perfect moment from the evil claws of time. And then she fell asleep, in a sweet indulgent dream.

Draco Malfoy let a relieved sigh escape his lips, a sigh that he chose to ignore. He ran his hand over his face and slowly made his way towards the small rose meadow where Hermione's daughter was sleeping in the grass, her face dusty and tear stained, the contour of her eyes red and blotchy. He wondered how the roses tortured her innocent soul. He had been following her since she had ran off into the gardens, but he only started worrying when she got lost in the labyrinth, for he out of all people knew what The Roses did to people. How, once the smell indulged the soul, the thorns imprisoned it in a cage of emotional turmoil and broken dreams that were snatched away too abruptly and reopened old scars. The Roses, if he recalled correctly from Bagshot's _History of Magic_, had been used in the making of the Mirror of Erised. Not even the greatest wizard could resist their charms...let alone a seven year old child.

Seeing her so small and fragile, sprawled on the grass made him angry. He always had the impression that Rose Weasley was very good at hiding her true emotions, and he wondered if, by forcing her to fight with her darkest fears, the roses broke her. He reluctantly sat down next to her, because he knew that attempting to wake her up would be futile. However, it wasn't too long until she started moving and regaining her strength.

"Rose?"

She murmured something too inaudible for him to hear, but she seemed to be getting upset. He placed a reassuring yet awkward hand on her shoulder. "Please don't go..." she cried still half asleep. "Daddy..." she whispered and her eyebrows tensed.

"Rose, wake up," he said slightly louder and the next minute was met by her big green eyes. She stood up abruptly, looking around as if hoping that Ron was hiding behind the bushes. "Where is he?" she asked looking at Draco with sad eyes, not wanting to believe that he was truly gone, even though deep down she knew she was fatherless yet again.

"You mean your father?" he asked and stood up as well. Rose nodded as her eyes refilled with tears.

"Rose," he started but was soon interrupted by her, as she could no longer hold the tears in.

"Did you see him? He was here...he was here with me..."

"No Rose, he wasn't," he said and decided that it was best if she knew despite her fresh tears and trembling bottom lip. "He was just a fragment of your mind."

"He was real!" she cried stubbornly.

"These are no ordinary roses," he continued as Rose started wiping her eyes on her sleeves. "If they catch with your guard down, they bewitch you with their smell, they conquer your heart and they enhance what hurts you the most, making you believe what in your dreams you want to be real. Your father's appearance was just their trap to play with your pain. I'm sorry you had to experience this, which is why I must ask you never to adventure into this labyrinth again."

"But I want to see him again," she begged, still looking around hoping that he would come out any minute.

"No!" said Draco authoritatively. "Rose," he continued in a softer voice as she started sobbing quietly, "Your father is dead. Nothing can bring him back, and the sooner you let go the better. I know it's hard, I really do, but you must move on."

The little girl said nothing more, but gave him a small nod, wiping her tears and refusing to let the remaining ones fall. She caged them with her eyelashes, deciding that it was time to be strong again and make Ron proud. Draco guided her out of the labyrinth and as soon as they entered the house, Rose ventured down a corridor, seeking dark solitude for comfort. He looked at her frail little silhouette as she veered left and felt the monstrous claws of her own sadness get to him a little. It was true, he never liked Ron...actually he hated Ron, but he couldn't help not respecting the memory of her father. He wondered whether Scorpius would mourn so bitterly if he was to die...but after the extra reading he gave him, he thought probably not.

The sound of shattered glass coming from the dungeons interrupted his train of thought. He presumed that a house elf probably dropped a plate and so started making his way towards his study, but then someone's moans made him stop and turn around. This, he thought, he could not ignore. He made his way down to the dungeon corridor, listening for any sign that something was wrong. And it came in the form of a loud sob from the servant bedchamber. He felt a small lump forming inside his chest. Was it..._worry_, he thought?

"No," he said out loud. "_Just Slytherin curiosity_."

"You look worried," said a female voice from one of the paintings hanging on the wall.

"Oh shut up," he hissed and made his way towards Hermione's room, from where he could hear ongoing sobs and moans. _I'm not exactly the best person to "pop in and ask what's wrong_", he thought, begging his pride to make him turn around, "_we hate each other,_" continued his mind, but his feet kept taking him forward._ Fuck_, he thought as his hand turned the door knob and the door opened to reveal Hermione holding on to her stomach for dear life, rivers of blood running down her legs and forming a red puddle beneath her.

"Merlin, Granger," he exclaimed and caught her in his arms as she passed out.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten—Birthday Presents and White Masks**

**September 2013**

"How is she?"

It was a simple question. A question a stranger could have ask about a woman he saw on the street, a woman that had started bleeding and had fainted. The stranger could have owl-ed a healer, the healer could have come to aid the woman, and then the stranger could have asked the simple question how she was. There were no feelings hidden deep inside. No hidden truths. Therefore, the question came out of his lips as a result of _curiosity_. After all, he was more or less a stranger to her. Or so he wanted to think. Because Draco Malfoy didn't particularly like the feeling that he was staring to like the muggle born encyclopaedia he had hated for so many years.

He also hated the sudden realization that his current thinking was impregnated with lies. _He did care_. He just hoped that the "_how is she_" didn't scream out, _"I'm starting to fall for her."_

"Well...I managed to stop the haemorrhage, but she _did lose_ a lot of blood. I think she'll pull through, though," she added upon the realization that Draco became a few shades paler. He just gave her a small nod, his eyes not once leaving Hermione who was sprawled on the bed, her enchanted straight brown hair arranged around her head like dull halo. He felt the urge to rearrange it back into its messy state...to return her freckles and see her real face. "Listen, I'll come and check on her tomorrow, she's stable at the moment...I'll get a house elf to look after her tonight."

Narcissa's words were unheard by her son, whose existence seemed to have become entangled in the image of Hermione all small and fragile in his dungeon room. All vulnerable. All alone. "Draco, darling, I'm sorry you had to see this," said Narcissa. She had apparated at her former home immediately after she received the owl from her son, requesting her urgent presence. The servant woman, Anna, was in a critical condition when she arrived, but managed to stop the bleeding within minutes. Narcissa remained, after all, the Healer that she had trained to be before marrying Lucius. She felt good to use her skills again. But her blue eyes kept looking at Draco in a concerned way. She couldn't recall seeing him look so worried before. "Draco?"

"Hmm?" he asked. It seemed to Narcissa that it pained him to take her eyes of Anna. And when he looked at her, he seemed quite ready to cry. She stood up from the edge of the bed and walked towards him, placing a warm hand over his cheek. "I think it's best if you go, I know this is upsetting for you..."

"No!" he half exclaimed as if he had just woken up from a relatively deep daydream. He took a step back from Narcissa and ran his hand over his eyes for a moment. "I'd like to stay. I think she...she may need some human company when she wakes up. I'll instruct a house elf to look after her later."

Narcissa raised her elegantly curved eyebrows in a questioning glare. She couldn't comprehend her son's peculiar behaviour. She looked back at the still unconscious Anna. She found her quite pretty...quite a natural beauty. Her bones were small and her face seemed kind. Still, she thought, she was very different to Astoria.

And yet...Narcissa though, even she had seen the deterioration of her son's relationship with his wife, so she couldn't help wondering if Draco found much needed comfort in this unconscious woman. "Are you telling me, that you want to deliver the news to her?"

"Deliver what news?" came a weak voice from the bed. Draco and Narcissa looked at each other in worried glances before casting their cold eyes upon Hermione. She attempted to sit up and with a bit of struggle managed to do so, as her eyes ran over her bloodied clothes and bed sheets. Narcissa was next to her in an instant, while Draco stood frozen, unable to take his eyes off her shaking hands.

"Anna?" asked Narcissa in a soft voice.

"What happened to me?"

"Draco found you haemorrhaging. You lost a lot of blood. Are you still feeling dizzy?"

Hermione shook her head, looking at Draco with big, worried brown eyes.

"Anna, did you know you were pregnant?"Narcissa persisted, her blue eyes warming towards the young woman lying before her. Hermione broke her eyes from the bloodied mess and cast a nervous glance towards Mrs Malfoy.

"_W-were_?"

Draco took a step towards Hermione, but she didn't acknowledge him. She persisted looking at Mrs Malfoy with watering eyes, knowing the truth but in need of verbal confirmation to believe it and let it bite her with sharp teeth and cause her agonising pain.

"I'm really sorry," was all that Narcissa said.

Hermione just nodded once, her eyes looking down at her flat abdomen and all the blood on her clothes. She felt her eyes stinging with tears, but she couldn't let them fall. "Can I please be left alone?" she asked in a shaking voice.

Narcissa nodded once, stood up, squeezed her shoulder in sympathy and left the room. She held the door open for Draco, but the latter gave no sign of being inclined to leave. When the door closed yet again, Draco took another step towards Hermione who was staring into the unknown, tears running down her cheeks. If he didn't know the news she had received, he would have said they were rain drops, for her face hid the emotions associated with crying. Her eyebrows were relaxed and her muscles, beneath her unhealthily pale skin refused to tense. The lack of her visual pain made him feel slightly nervous, for he was too well acquainted with the reactions of women in such emotional torture.

Draco opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He felt out of place and rather silly that he was just standing there, as if waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. He wanted her to look at him and promise she would be okay. Promise that she would get through. Promise him that she could find her strength.

"It's gone..."she whispered between a heartbreaking sob that made her hidden pain erupt to the surface. Her face crumpled in a sheet of emotions as her tears started falling in vast numbers. Hermione was holding on to her abdomen, as if wanting to protect what should have been developing within. It's absence...it's emptiness seemed to be confusingly painful to her.

And it seemed right for Draco to move by her side in an instant, allowing her a sanctuary of physical comfort within his strong arms. Back and forth he rocked her, as if soothing a frightened child to sleep. She didn't push him away—the blow she had received made her weak and she had not the strength to cry on herself. Crying on Draco seemed a better option even though she hated him with all her being for holding her like that. It should have been Ron holding her. It should have been her husband there with her, suffering with her, mourning the loss of their unborn child. Draco was stone like next to her...Draco couldn't understand...or so she thought.

But Draco did understand as he held her in his arms, allowing her to cry the pain out as she struggled to break free. Draco understood better than Ron could have, because unlike her deceased husband, Draco had experienced such loss. It didn't seem like such a long time ago, when he rocked Astoria just the same way. The same bloodied sheets, the same tears, sobs of the same essence, pain of the same level. Only, unlike Hermione, Astoria had been seven months pregnant with a baby girl of his. A baby girl that died before living.

He closed his eyes, wishing for the sudden memory of such loss to pass away quietly and not make a fuss. The bottle of Firewhiskey was too far out of his reach, and, as he reminded himself, he was not the one in need of comfort. He held Hermione in a protective embrace as she tried to fight him off. But he knew she needed someone. And, right then, he was the best she had. So he let her wail and try to hit him with her legs, as her had her arms pinned to her chest in a bone crushing embrace. It was only too soon that her fragile body became tired and she stopped deliberately convulsing. Her struggle was replaced by full on sobs and incoherent murmurs, which, if he listened to carefully enough, were telling him to go away. But, as he was sitting behind her on the bed, he just hugged her tighter, burying his face in her increasingly bushy hair and trying his best to absorb some of the pain that held her chained to depression.

"I know," was all that he said.

Hugo Weasley knew that there was something wrong with his older sister. Not once did she smile at him that day. Not once did she offer him her customary warm eyed look. He was worried, for he hadn't seen her look out of a heavy curtained window so absent mindedly since the day their father died. But Hugo was also slightly puzzled because whenever Rose felt the weight of something too heavy bring her heart down, she would share it with him. This new Rose, however, dismissed her tear stained dry face and blotchy red eyes with a nonchalant smile, blaming the Malfoy dust for causing her such an allergy. He knew she was lying, but he was also aware of the fact that if he persisted longer, she risked getting angry. She really did inherit their mother's fiery temper, thought Hugo. So, in a circumstance like that, he did the only think his five year old heart could come up with: he gently took her hand and squeezed it once, hoping it was enough of a reminder that he was there for her. Rose responded with a small, sincere smile.

The two boys had been looking for a safe place to play in, when they came across Rose lingering on the corridors, saying something about not finding her duster. It was Scorpius' idea to come playing in one of the deserted Malfoy libraries. So it was only natural for the two Weasleys to expect a place full of spider webs and spurs of dust flying in the air with each step they took, giving birth to grey fairy wings.

But the apparent deserted library looked more like a small museum. The wooden floor shined with the marks of being polished regularly and the only thing that gave away the fact that the room was not often used was the absence of out-of-place books on the mahogany side tables. That and no plants—the beautifully gold decorated vases were empty and silent.

They were sitting on the floor, behind a large antique green and faded couch, playing a game of naming powerful wizards. Whoever knew the most, would win, and despite her heavy heart, Rose found that she could find the strength to enjoy herself.

"Merlin?"

"He doesn't count," said Scorpius with a playfully evil smirk.

"Yes he does!" said Rose indignantly.

"He's worshipped too much. Everyone knows what Merlin did."

"Fine. How about Dorothy Burbage?"

"Never heard of her," said Scorpius in a serious tone, after which he added, "Harry Potter?"

Rose felt her stomach twist and contract with an immense and heavy dread. She missed uncle Harry like mad, but since he died, it was her dad that kept her heart occupied and entangled in pain. Her cousins and aunt Ginny came flooding into her mind with the mention of Harry's name. Their faces peered at her, and screamed words she could not hear. Their faces were contrasted into sheets of emotion and their eyes filled with tears. She wondered where they were, if they were all right, if they were hurt. She took a look at Hugo who was as pale as she felt, his eyes not leaving the patterned wooden floor boards.

"Yeah," she said in a voice drained of feelings and energy. "Harry Potter..."

"Ron Weasley," said Hugo suddenly, looking straight into Scorpius' eyes. Rose wished her little brother wouldn't have brought their dad in the conversation, for her heart started throbbing.

"Nahh..." said Scorpius in a nonchalant voice, "He doesn't count."

"Yes, he does!" said Rose through gritted teeth, feeling anger starting to boil within her veins.

"Why?" persisted Scorpius. "He was just a Harry Potter wannabe. I read he did more harm than good when they were searching for horcruxes. I can't remember who the author was...Skeeter...or something."

"That's a lie!" said Hugo, his cheeks flushed.

"Come on, not even many people heard of him...it was Harry Potter who saved the wizardry world and defeated Voldemort."

"HE WOULD HAVE DONE NOTHING WITHOUT RON!" shouted Hugo standing up and looking quite ready to jump on Scorpius and strangle him.

"Why do you care so much? What's it to you? I'm just saying what everyone is saying," said Scorpius utterly taken aback at his reaction, but standing up as well.

"Well they're all wrong," said Rose, her eyebrows tensed and her eyes flushing with pure agony. Unlike her little brother, she was more ready to cry than shout, and hoped that her emotions were not washing too clearly over her features.

"Why are you acting like this?" asked Scorpius in a sincerely confused voice. "It's just a game," he added. "I thought we might have fun..."

"It's okay...it's just that our family was...proud of what Ron Weasley did," said Rose lowering her eyes and wishing to pack her bags and buy a one way ticket towards another conversation.

But for Hugo it was not okay. The little boy's face was crimson red and his green eyes were twinkling with an unnatural light. "Hugo, sit down, it's okay," started Rose, but didn't get to finish the sentence for she was soon interrupted.

"NO IT'S NOT OKAY! HE WAS A HERO...!"

"Hu-Harry, calm down. You're right, he was a hero, there's no need to...Harry?" Rose watched in pure disbelief as her little brother's feet separated themselves from the wooden floor and levitated Hugo in mid air. His eyes rolled back in their sockets until only the white was visible and the little boy seemed to be in a trance like state. Even his breathing hardened and became audible, sending grunting echoes through the room.

"Oh Merlin," said Rose hyperventilating. Scorpius took hold of Rose's hand and together they moved further away from the levitated Hugo. "What's wrong with him?" she shrieked.

"I...I don't know," said Scorpius equally frightened when one of the nearby vases shredded to pieced, sending porcelain weapons flying around the room. "He looks possessed!" he exclaimed as several large volumes flew out of the library towards them. He quickly dragged Rose down and they hid behind the green sofa, holding on to each other for dear life.

"I never saw him getting this angry," she whispered, as her hand was becoming sweaty in his. Scorpius did not have enough time to reply because the library door opened, someone cast a spell neither children heard of before and just like that, Hugo's body stopped having a war with gravity. He was gently returned to the ground, where he lay limp and unconscious as if in a deep and peaceful sleep. Rose ran to him, trying to fight the tears that were forming inside her eyes and conquering her cheeks in vast numbers. She hugged him close to her chest and even though she knew he was not really harmed, his heart beating against his small chest sent currents of relief through her veins.

"What happened here?"

For the first time since the library door opened, Rose looked up to see the intruders and her heart skipped a beat. She felt the surge to take Hugo's limp body and hide behind the sofa in the relative safety of being out of his eyes. For right next to Mrs Malfoy, stood a very tall and a very imposing Dominus Blackwell, or, as Rose remembered him, the cruel man who wanted to kill her mother.

"Well?" persisted Astoria looking at the mess around the room as if it was her worst nightmare. Scorpius could swear he saw her hair get out of place upon her entree.

"My brother had a magic outburst," said Rose finally placing the puzzle pieces together. Dominus pierced her with his eyes which made her look away as if she were a vampire in front of a burning, agonising sun.

"Your brother seems to have serious temper problems. Most children bend forks at dinner, not fly around the room breaking vases with their magic auras." Rose shrugged as Blackwell's poisonous voice cut through her like a sharp knife. She hoped her shaking hands were out of the man's vision and hugged Hugo tighter. "Maybe he's just strong," she found herself saying in a surprisingly strong voice.

"How dare you talk back to a guest in my house!" said Astoria taking a step towards the little girl. "And with such disrespect!" she added raising her voice. Rose looked down. "Well? What are you waiting for? Apologise at once!"

Rose looked up to meet Blackwell's cold grey eyes. She never felt such hate and fear in all her life. It was like an agonising square with sharp edges, growing bigger and bigger within her stomach. He gave her a small, evil smirk as if he enjoyed her tortured expression."I'm sorry. I'll clean everything."

"Yes, you will," said Astoria getting hold of Scorpius' arm and dragging him next to her. The little boy looked utterly uncomfortable. "And make sure you tell your mother to tame this monstrous brother of yours, or I won't allow him to come out of the dungeons and play with my son. He's too dangerous."

"No he's not!" protested Scorpius.

"Do not answer back, young man. Come, we're going!" she said taking Scorpius out of the room despite the fact that he gave her angry looks. Dominus lingered another moment or two, looking around the mess in the library. For a moment, he opened his mouth to say something, as if remembering some other girl's face. But one look at Rose's enchanted red hair and green eyes made him reassure himself he was just making silly assumptions. So he left without another word and let Rose breathe in peace. As soon as he closed the door, a flood of relief washed over her and just like that she found herself holding on to Hugo and crying her eyes out.

It came and it went. For the next two weeks, Hermione found herself staring into the unknown, daydreaming of what it could have been if Ron was not dead and if her unborn baby had not decided to depart the world it had not yet entered. And whenever such thoughts entered her mind, and threatened to disturb her newfound numbness, she would scrub harder, dust more and cry less. After all, she thought, tears were not helpful for they did not have some soothing secret potion within their core.

She even told Rose and Hugo, that there would no longer be a new sibling. She thanked the gods for Hugo's innocence, for the little boy did not linger in her dwelling pain and accepted the news as a fact. As it was, he found it easy to move on and not bring the subject into conversation. A few days later he forgot about the facts that made her mother scream in agony within. And for Hermione, this made it easier to lock little parts of the pain in the chests of her unconscious mind, destroy the key and throw them into the sea of a calm forgetfulness.

Rose, however, was like an enchanted sponge that did not let the water out. For a few days, the little girl seemed to experience a similar pain to that of her mother. She gave up cleaning, under the false pretext she had a headache and found little excuses to be around Hermione as much as possible. She would hold her hand when sleeping, hoping perhaps to absorb some of the pain that made her mother's usual luminous eyes, unhappy and chained in a dull, dark light. And it really helped Hermione. It made her realise that despite the pain that would always stay hidden within her, and launch to bite her in the most opportune moments, she had not lost everything. Her children, Rosie and Hugo, were the most a mother could ask for and she swore that she was never going to lose them.

It was a Monday late afternoon, when the sun started settling behind the Wiltshire high hills and the house elves retreated for their early evening break, saying something about going into the nearest free house elf village. This gave Hermione the kitchen to herself, all the scrubbing having been done, all the ingredients back in their cupboards, all the spoons in their drawers. She was sitting at the table, savouring a bit of wine the house elves had intentionally left in sight. She really admired the little creatures, for they had an intelligence humans lacked. They knew she was hurting, without her ever saying a word. Melvin, more so than the others, for her often gave her more chores to do, aware that she begged for her mind to be occupied in order to avoid remembrance followed by pain.

"Granger."

Hermione turned around to face the mouth the voice had come from. Draco Malfoy was standing in the doorway, his eyes resting on her glass of rosé wine, the corners of his mouth going up to form a small smirk. She found herself smiling at him, for it was not the first time Draco _just popped_ in the kitchen looking for her under the false pretext he was searching for food or drink.

"I thought I had hired you for a particular purpose," he said in a jokey way, to which Hermione responded with a nonchalant smirk. Draco moved from the doorway and found a chair next to her, pouring himself some of the wine.

For a moment, neither said a word, yet they were both becoming slightly uncomfortable at the ongoing silence. So, he cleared his voice and said:

"Are you okay?" It was the first time he asked that question since her miscarriage and he hoped it sounded as sincere as it was. Her smile faded and she looked away.

"I'm managing," she said simply before falling into dark silence yet again. Draco just nodded, as his eyes dropped to his pale hands. He could almost feel the aura of pain she emitted when remembering and he felt rather nailed to the chair. But then she looked straight at him, making him feel as if her eyes could see straight into his soul. He didn't know what to expect from her, but when she opened her mouth, the words that came out made him feel extremely exposed.

"Are _you_ okay?"

He knew that she knew. He wouldn't have been surprised if the whole of England and Scotland knew of the argument he had had with Astoria the previous week. It was an argument that had reduced them both to screaming at each other and throwing blind accusations, hoping that their words would strangle one another. He had accused her of cheating more than once. She responded with throwing a vase in his direction before he could cast a shield and making the side of his temple bleed. They only stopped when Scorpius came in, his face tear stained, his eyes rather scared and his bottom lip trembling. It was Draco that put him to bed that night, as Astoria left the mansion, claiming she needed some time away and some time to spend with a friend. But he knew she was lying. He knew that she was going to him, and surprisingly, he found that he didn't hurt as much as before. " I'm great," he said and tried not to sound too sarcastic. Hermione's next question surprised him even more that the first one.

"Why did you marry her?"

Draco sighted, and for a few seconds, Hermione could see regret washing over his pallid features. But then his emotionless mask hid it behind the false pretext that the past no longer hunted him. "I was foolish enough to believe myself in love," he eventually said as if the memory of a young Astoria was very different from the current Mrs Malfoy. Hermione could recall seeing her at Hogwarts, sitting alone at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, during warm, summer lunchtimes when everyone else was outside, enjoying the rare occasions of sunlight the Scottish highlands offered.

As it was, Draco's eyebrows tensed a little and she thought he would look for ways to end the conversation, deeming it inappropriate for a servant such as herself. And, despite her current emotional state, she even expected him to make some sour or witty remark to throw back at her, for daring to ask him such a personal question. But Draco gave no sign of being annoyed by her curiosity. He didn't abruptly stand up nor did his voice rise when he addressed her. He seemed almost..._pleased_ that someone dared ask him what he held inside since she said _yes._

"She was my one true friend at Hogwarts," he continued," the one who spent her days in the library and her evenings hidden within the blankets of her dorm bed. She was...very different back then."

"Why?" she asked.

"She was...scared of the world. It was her father's fault. He made her weak. Every time he hit her, every fist, every bruise and every cut was like a chain that held her back from happiness. And she only showed herself to me, when I showed myself to her. I would tell her about my father and the Death Eaters and Voldemort and she told me of the monstrosities her father did to her." Draco drank the rest of his wine in one go as Hermione watched his eyes darken. "We bonded," he continued," because we believed to be alike. We were young and foolish. We didn't really know each other as well as we claimed...we were only familiar with each other's pain. In our final year at Hogwarts, we declared to be in love. We apprenticed together afterwards in Defence against the Dark Arts. She still lived with her parents back then. One day she came to me in the middle of the night, the right side of her face was swelled up and her eye blood shot. Her wrist was broken and her body covered in bruises. Her father had had too much Firewhiskey and she begged me to save her. I asked for her hand in marriage the following day and she came to live with me here at the Manor, leaving the Greengrass family far behind and never speaking of them."

"And then she changed. With me she had the freedom she never did at home and also the money. We lived in an almost bliss for a couple of years, but then she went in the arms of another man and...well thing haven't been the same since then. And I don't think they will ever be."

Hermione felt a surge of sympathy for him. He had married her to save her, yet the love required to keep them together was absent. "I'm sorry," she said and placed her hand over his and squeezed it gently.

And then he looked at her without his mask on, his eyes warm and gentle, speaking the words they both knew yet didn't have the courage to say out loud.

"Happy Birthday! Oh, my darling, look what mummy got you! Isn't it beautiful?"

Scorpius Malfoy forced himself to smile, hoping that his eyes didn't show the shocked and somewhat nervous look. From a green box filled with ribbon and paper, Astoria took out what seemed to be a slightly oversized yellow jumper with a red collar. Draco almost choked on his Firewhiskey and Rose, who was holding a tray of cookies, tried not to laugh. She really tried. But her laughter was rebellious, so it interacted with her saliva and a loud cough came out before she turned away from the birthday scene, and disappeared down a corridor, leaving behind a trail of loud coughs and almost refrained laughter.

"I know it's a little big, honey, but its Madam Malkin's design! The colours are splendid, you'll just grow into it, you'll see," said Astoria who demanded another kiss from her son, who let out a nervous laugh.

"Thank you mum," he said in her bone-crushing hug, after which he placed the jumper back into its box and hoped to forget it somewhere.

But Scorpius didn't hide his excitement at the other presents he received as the guests came to his eighth birthday party. Not only did he receive a brand new broom from his father, but he also got a new Quidditch outfit from his father's best friend, Blasie Zabini. Luckily for him, Blasie's sons, Jerome and Clive were also obsessed with Quidditch. Since Clive, who was the same age as Scorpius, was his best friend, it had not been hard for Blasie and his wife Pansy to pick the present for Scorpius.

As it was, Scorpius and Clive were so excited about the new broom that they immediately went out into the garden and attempted to fly off, before Draco came and scolded Scorpius for leaving his other guests.

Hermione and Hugo, however, were banned from the party, much to Hugo's disappointment. Only Rose was required to serve the guests drink and cookies, but under no circumstance was she permitted to play with the other children. Draco had said something about high profile guests from the Ministry who might recognise them, so he must prevent any suspicious looks before they could be formed.

To Rose Weasley, the party was something splendid, yet highly intimidating. She felt as if she did not belong there, with her silver plate, tiny hands, short nails and her servant's uniform. Her mother had braided her hair for her, to make her look more special, in the hope that she would feel less inferior. But Hermione knew her daughter better than anyone. And for that reason she also knew that Rose was, by fate, forced to be a young butterfly in a greenhouse full of carnivorous plants. Her wings would tire in the course of the night, and despite her strong character she would fall into someone's trap. As it was, Rose also felt like she was the target of nearly one hundred predators dressed in the finest garments and drinking the finest champagne. But did hope that her predator would not bite that soon.

Vincent and Arcturus Wilson were twins of ten, both with unnaturally crooked noses that had been separated at birth. They both had a red, pea sized birth mark on the left cheek and shaved heads. One of them, presumably Vincent, wore glasses, yet no one was sure he knew how to read. Their father, Velkin Wilson, was a Ministry official, working in the Department of Law Enforcement. Since his appointment, a month prior to Scorpius' birthday, fifty six muggle borns had been "legally" sent to Azkaban for the crime of "stealing magic" for a sentence that a lifetime couldn't beat. And that particular evening, the highly unintelligent and bored eyes of Vincent and Arcturus were on the red headed girl wearing a servant's uniform and holding a tray of cookies. So they made their way through the mass of red and silver balloons and side tables of soda drinks and fruits and presents, towards Rose who was moving further away from them. She reached a wall and stopped. She was trapped and there was something about those older boys that made her realize they weren't coming for cookies.

When they reached her they smiled an unnatural smile revealing crooked and missing teeth. One of the twins had his mouth full of chocolate fudge. Rose held the tray towards them, hoping with all her heart that they could just take some cookies and leave. They did take the cookies, but didn't leave.

"You're a servant?" asked one of the twins. Rose nodded. The other twin started laughing.

"But you're small," said the other twin. Rose didn't reply. She just raised her eyebrows at them.

"She's a dwarf," said the first twin as they both started laughing.

"Well that would make you two gnomes then," said Rose's mouth before she could stop it. The Wilson twin stopped laughing as they took another step towards her.

"What did you say?"

"I said if I am a dwarf, you must be gnomes."

"I don't think I heard you well. You're a servant and you dare talk to us like...like that?"

Rose couldn't help but roll her eyes at them. She opened her mouth to say something else, but felt the tray of cookies flying out of her hands and before anyone could notice, she was ushered by the Wilson twins into a nearby corridor, where they threw her against a wall. Before she could protest, she felt a boot hitting her ribs twice. She cried out in pain as the tears rolled down her cheeks, but no one heard her for they all started singing happy birthday to Scorpius. The lights went out and a giant chocolate cake levitated itself onto the main table. Lucius's arm was around Scorpius's shoulder. Rose cried again as she felt another boot hit her side.

"That'll teach you a lesson. You must respect your superiors, you scum! Come Vince, there's cake," said Arcturus as he and his brother made their way out of the dark little corridor. She remained there on the floor with her tray and cookies watching through her teary eyes as Scorpius blew the candles. And she saw him looking straight at her with big, grey eyes.

"Are you okay?"

Rose looked up at the piece of birthday cake that Scorpius was offering to her. She didn't take it, but said instead a small and sad "happy birthday." The little boy sighted once and sat down next to her on that dark little corridor.

"You should go back to your guests," she said.

"The cake is really good. Try some," he replied, taking a little bit of chocolate with his finger and licking it off.

"Scorpius!"

"They won't notice my absence for five minutes," he said in a more serious voice, insisting with the cake. Rose rolled her eyes and took the cake form him, with the spoon he offered.

"What happened with the Wilson twin?" he asked looking as the two boys enjoyed their cake in a far corner. One of them was looking through his presents, the other stuffing his mouth with as much chocolate as he could fit.

"So that's what they're called," said Rose in a bitter voice. "I called them gnomes," she finished.

Scorpius choked on his bit of chocolate before laughing out loud with mirth. "Good one," he said. Rose couldn't help but laugh at his reaction.

"They didn't take it well, though," she said and placed her hands over her ribs. The pain had started to cease. "I'm sure their parents never told them," she finished, but Scorpius didn't have time to laugh as several pops broke in the air allowing numerous black hooded figures with white masks to appear between the guests. A few screamed in panic, some dropped their plates, as a dreadful silence fell upon the room like cold mist. Rose and Scorpius stood up in an instant, their hands squeezing each others.

Both Astoria and Draco turned pale as several Death Eaters walked towards them at ease. The first one ruptured his mask away to reveal the cold and sardonic face of the Minister of Magic.

"Blackwell!" exclaimed several guests who did not know that their so called leader was a follower of Voldemort.

Lucius Malfoy was also shocked, however, the shock came dressed in a different outfit that the one shared by the guests. He had always know Blackwell was a Death Eater—what shocked him more was the fact that he was no longer hiding such a fact.

"Good evening," said Blackwell in a calm and cold voice. Not many people responded. Wilson senior nodded in salute, as did Lucius to keep his spy game going. Draco's eyebrows were so tensed that they threatened to fly off his face. "I hope we're not interrupting anything important," continued Dominus.

"Actually," started Draco, "I'm afraid you are. It's my son's birthday," he said in an equally calm and cold voice. Lucius shot him a weary look.

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry," said Dominus as an evil smirk appeared on his face. "But, the news we came to deliver are by far more important," he said in a more serious voice as his eyes darkened. He turned from Draco to face all the other guests. "The Dark Lord is back. Soon, he shall rise to power. Bow to us and you will be rewarded. Oppose us...and you shall die," he said as everyone gave each other worried glances, and other locked their gazes in a terrified glare. "And remember," continued Dominus, "this time, there is no Harry Potter."

* * *

**A.N. Next chapter time frame: 8 years later. I would really appreciate reviews, would love to know what you guys think. **

**Merope M. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven— Of Letters, Brooms and Books**

**EIGHT YEARS LATER**

**September 2021**

_Dear Dad,_

_I can't believe I'm doing this again. I promised myself I would stop writing to you, because I long for replies that will never come and their absence is a solid pain, pressing down on me, making me want to beg for mercy. And yet I can't seem to do that. It is as if I enjoy the pain of disappointment, just because I know I get to try again. I get to write to you, and in those few moments when I invoke your memory with my quill and parchment, I can lie and pretend you are still with us. Hope, that one day Helga will return with something more than just the Daily Prophet. But I always knew that my wish is never to come true. The rational way of thinking I inherited form mum is far too prominent. I cannot lie to myself even if it is for comfort. _

_Dad, I don't know if I miss you. I feel an agonising ache every time I see something that reminds me of you, but these occurrences are becoming rarer. I can't even remember the way you used to have your tea in the morning. I wish I did. I wish I could have it the same way as you, because that way, I would preserve a little bit of how it used to be. I really don't feel you around me anymore. It's like you lingered for a few years to make sure we were okay and then you departed. But dad, it really isn't okay without you. Isn't this enough to make you come back? I guess not. I guess if you would have been able to, you would have come back when mom lost the baby all those years ago...I guess you would have come back when Hugo ran away at six, wanting to go back home, or when I fell off Scorpius's broom and didn't wake up for three days in my third year. I guess I didn't inherit your passion for Quidditch. But Hugo did. He would have been great on the Gryffindor Team if he would be here at Hogwarts. Dad, he's not answering any of my letters any more. Even the one line replies have disappeared and I am really worried about him. He's only fourteen and he probably needs you more than he will ever admit. He has no male role model to learn from and he has no father figure. I know he wants to remain loyal to you, but he could really do with some positive male influence. And it really doesn't help that he hates Mr Malfoy. I think he still sees him as the destructive force of his life, the reason why he didn't come to Hogwarts, the man mum thinks about when she believes no one is looking. _

_I'm sorry. I had to tell you. I want to think that they don't cross the boundaries of their platonic relationship. But as far as mum is concerned, she seems to be really lonely. With me off to Hogwarts and Hugo unresponsive and in a constant foul mood, it's getting harder for her to keep away from the temptation of alcohol. She's not really open to me anymore in her letters and I fear that she started drinking again like she did for a while after she lost the baby. Mr Malfoy was kind the first time, helping her through...I guess that's how they became friends, but I really hope you're watching over her because Merlin, she really needs you now. _

_The nightmares haven't stopped. I even started taking the Dreamless Sleep Serum every night I go to bed, but sometimes, when my emotions are bigger than I can handle they still penetrate through. And each time I wake up, my throat dry and my eyes wet, I see your lifeless face falling to the ground in a jet of green light. Dad, it's killing me. It's slowly driving me mad. I can feel whatever's left of my sanity holding on o a thin thread that strong currents threaten to break. I think it's the castle, partly. Hogwarts is no longer the safe place it once was... it's no longer safe to linger around corridors by yourself. Students are starting to be afraid of their own shadows and I think the walls have been enchanted because it's not just me the nightmares feed upon, it's the entire student body. There is no laughter and jokes about the new regime are kept solely to the whispers of common rooms. Punishments are harsh and the things that the teachers (Death Eaters) do to those perceived as dissidents...well, if you end up witnessing such events then sleep does pack its bags and leaves. And then the things they teach in lessons... it just really hurts to see how every day they stain uncle Harry's name, your name and mum's name with lies impregnated in our heads through propagandist textbooks and brainwashing curriculums. Each year it's getting harder to keep to the truth and...well...there are becoming fewer and fewer of us that dare to stand up to what is happening. It's better to keep quiet these days. It's better to be as invisible as you can be. I have no idea how I will survive next year like this. _

_Dad I've always known I am writing these letters in vain, for you cannot reply. I've never before mentioned to you how much I wish you could write back, but, right now I really feel as if something terrible is about to happen at Hogwarts. I could really do with some advice on how to survive and more than this, I could really do with some advice on how to take care of mum and Hugo, because every day we are breaking more and more apart as a family and there seem to be fewer things that bring us together. I'm really scared, dad, not because of what is happening but because I've started to forget your features. Your face is becoming blurrier in my mind with each year and I'm not even allowed a photo of you to remind me of what I once had. _

_Dad, please guide me out of this tunnel. I don't know how much longer I can stay strong and the truth is I really miss you and the life we once had. _

_Rose Weasley_

Rose Weasley, or Welloby as people though she was called, wiped her old tears on her Hogwarts uniform sleeve and decided to ignore the new rain drops her stormy green eyes were forming. She leaned against the stone wall and fought a civil war with her body. A civil war that she lost, because in the next few minutes she was once again reduced to helpless sobs. She drew her knees to her chest and hugged them together in the loneliness of the Owlery, hoping that they could offer her some sort of comfort. Crying was rather alien to Rose, for it was not an emotion she allowed herself to experiment with too often. It was too messy, it brought out the redness in her face, swelled her eyes and made her face look all blotchy. More than this, it allowed Rose Weasley to break past Rose Welloby and liberate long captured emotions back into the wild. And when that happened, hell broke loose for her.

She only wrote to her father twice a year. Every September and on her birthday. Other than that, she tried keeping the thoughts of him to a minimum, for inside a Hogwarts led by Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort himself, vulnerable emotions were like chains bearing her down. And _they_ hated weakness. They looked for ways to punish weakness and she certainly didn't want to get herself at the receiving end of the wand of a wizard casting the Cruciatus Curse. Such things occurred too often and she felt the little hairs on her arm rise up in fear even when thinking of such events. The faces of such victims were more prominent than the features of her deceased father and such memories, however horrible, made her less likely to show emotions. Wasn't the new curriculum teaching them to be blind following machines anyway?

With such thoughts setting her mind on fire, Rose realized she had stopped crying and Weasley went back inside her cage, allowing Welloby to take control once again. Rose Welloby was not real, therefore she was not allowed to feel pain invoked by the loss of Ron. Rose Welloby did not share Rose Weasley's past, therefore she was not supposed to feel the agony the latter lived with. Or so Rose wanted to think. It was easier to pretend to be someone whose history could not come back to haunt her. It made her less likely to cry for him.

Rose wiped away the remaining tears once more on her sleeve, placed the letter into an envelope and attached it to the leg of a brown and black owl, by the name of Helga. Hermione didn't have enough money to buy her daughter a "letter sender", and since she was only allowed to write to Malfoy Manor, Draco permitted her to use one of the Manor's spare owls. She petted the bird on its head, whispered something about bringing a treat next time, and sent it flying into the clear September abyss. The sun was beginning to lose its fierceness, perhaps preferring to hide behind a hill in the distance rather than witness how a red haired sixteen year old was trying to pick up broken pieces of her soul from the floor and stick them together with unresponsive glue.

For a moment, she felt a little anguish as the bird's brown and white feathers were becoming smaller and smaller in the horizon. _Perhaps, it would be better to burn the letters after writing them_, she thought. But then Rose dismissed the thought with sad eyes. No. Burning the letters instead of sending them would mean she acknowledged that he could never read them. Sending them, into the unknown, gave her the momentary fulfilling hope that someday, somehow he will write back. She was aware of the insanity of her own thoughts, but adored her self indulged lying nevertheless. Besides, she specified no address on the envelope. Letters without an address written on them were disposed of by the Owls carrying them. She even recalled Helga dropping her first letter to Ron into the Dark Lake as it watched it from the Owlery. The others, she though, were probably disposed of in similar places...maybe a far away sea or the top of a snow plagued mountain. She even hoped that some way, somehow in those magical and untouched places, the energy from her letters would be transferred to her father. But she soon dismissed her nonchalant thinking as she took one look at her wristwatch. She hadn't realized how much time the bloody Owlery kidnapped form her.

Rose took one last look at the far away spot where the bird's feathers and the quickly darkening sky were no longer distinguishable, and made her way out of the Owlery. Curious bird eyes watched their red haired customary guest as she closed the stained wooden door quietly, as if afraid to disturb them. Yet if they looked carefully enough around the Owlery, the birds could almost see the tears left behind by Rose, buried deep within fallen feathers. It was only in that particular moment when the dying rays no longer favoured a rational world, that the tear stained fallen feathers formed the shape of a man in possession of kind features and a sad smile arranged neatly on a cherubic face. A face that no matter how hard she tried, Rose could not let go of. Yet when darkness came and filled every corner of the Owlery like a black silk veil, the tears dissolved, the feathers fell and the memory of a loved man disappeared. And the birds would then wait for the next time Rose sought the presence of their home in order to grant freedom to painful emotions.

He was sitting in front of the Gryffindor Common Room chimney, his eyes scanning over the content of Quidditch Daily. But the little black letters that formed words, seemed more like the ants he had seen in the Brazilian Rainforest, big, neat and walking in lines towards unidentified locations. Fascinating creatures, he thought. He wondered if his father still kept the catalogue of rare magical insects they had conducted while living in South America, or if that too, was lost when their kitchen exploded last month. He ran a hand over his tired eyes and then remembered to look at his watch. Merlin, it was getting late. How long did it take her to change in a pair of bloody muggle jeans? They had half an hour left of catching the dinner feast and he knew that by know all the good food was gone. Still, he was rather hungry. No, he was _starving_ and he really could do with some turkey, or monkey or whatever those first and second years hadn't devoured yet.

Upstairs in the girls' bathroom, Rose stared at her reflection in the mirror. Green eyes that were not entirely hers were staring back at her with a sort of sad glare. It worried her, it really did that she was starting to find the Welloby features more natural and more comfortable than those that belonged to Weasley. She wondered what people would think of her dull hazel eyes and auburn rather than plain red hair. She wondered what they'd think if her freckles disappeared over night. Rose knew, that if they were to see her real face, her real colours and her real expression, the seriousness hidden within her features, would show wisdom that belied her years. She sighted, placed the red hair in what looked like an attempt at a messy bun, and made her way towards the common room.

Lysander Scamander jumped a little as Rose sat down next to him on the worn out leather couch for he had allowed himself to doze off a little, the Quidditch magazine placed over his face, preventing the chimney fire from playing with his features in annoying shadows that came and went. Rose mouthed a small sorry as he gave her a playfully skulking look. "You do know we'd be lucky if we get to feast on the leftovers."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Lys," she started in a serious voice, "your relationship with food is really starting to be worrying."

"Not more than your relationship with the Owlery," he shot back with a cheeky smirk. But Rose didn't smile. She broke the eye contact and headed towards the entrance portrait. "Let's go," she urged as if the people in the Common Room made her feel uncomfortable. However, she knew she could not use such an excuse for the Common Room was empty save for them two and the creepy first year kid who spent his evenings talking to the walls and caressing the stone pillars. She had the feeling that Lysander would press her about the Owlery at dinner.

But he said nothing more on the way to the Great Hall. Their hands met and locked together, as they usually did once they embraced the uncertainness of the Hogwarts corridors, and held conversations their mouths could not. For instance, Lysander knew that something was troubling Rose by the way her fingers twitched ever so slightly when she thought he was not paying attention. He could also tell that she was slightly nervous because her skin was cold despite his warm grip. But most of all, Lysander felt the shock of electric currents that passed through her veins when, from the other end of the corridor, Scorpius Malfoy appeared carrying a broom.

_Bloody Malfoys! Bloody Mansion! I can't wait to turn seventeen, and get away from this prison. Hugo, you're allowed to have your own room now, on the first floor, oh but Hugo, you're not allowed to read. Why would you want to read in the first place? You're not allowed to attend Hogwarts, remember? Why seek an education? Why bother trying, Hugo? You'll grow up stupid! Why would you try to pretend otherwise? Only Rose is allowed to attend Hogwarts. Mum always liked her better, remember Hugo? She got her Hogwarts letter and they put her on the Hogwarts Express with Scorpius and waved them goodbye. And that was the day you dreamed of, Hugo, you dreamed to be with them once you turned eleven. But what did they do, Hugo? Do you remember? That day when you got your Hogwarts letter, what did they do? Bloody told you couldn't go. That's what they did. And they didn't care that you cried and begged them to let you go. They wouldn't hear of it. They said it was too dangerous to send two Weasley kids in a place clustered by Death Eaters. One had to be sacrificed. One had to stay behind to be home schooled by mum. As if mum ever had time with all that she had to do. _

"Arrgghhhh!" He screamed in frustration, making the chandelier over his head shake in vibrant protest at his outburst of magic. Why wouldn't the annoying little voice in his head just shut up and leave him be? Bloody masochistic mind...kept him in self torment. He had been in self torment for the past four years, when childhood moved aside to yield an early teenagehood. And with teenagehood came the questions, (most of them rhetorical, if he could add) the grief turned into annoyance at the fact that no one bothered to answer them and the ongoing pain at losing his father and barely even remembering him. For that last crime, if he could call it such, he blamed himself the most.

And then there were the prison guards. Those that deprived him of his humanity...of his life...of his love of life...okay, maybe he was being melodramatic. He could hardly hold his mother accountable for more than one crime. But he was angry. He felt it in his veins, how it ate his blood cells and mutated his insides, making him a ravenous monster that could only communicate through shouting. And that crime he certainly could attribute to someone. And that someone was Mr bloody Malfoy.

Hugo Weasley wiped away his tear and refused to acknowledge the way it made him cringe inside. He wasn't a bloody girl, he wasn't crying! No...that was just the madness within that made its way out of his body. Yes, that was a good enough excuse. But then another tear followed the first one and it made him even angrier to think that he really was crying and that it was harder than he had anticipated to stop. He felt his anger rise to dangerous levels and all it seemed to accumulate in his right foot. And there seemed to be only one way to let it flow out of his body and give him peace.

So Hugo hit the nightstand as hard as he could.

And then he cried in pain and collapsed on the bed, more tears flowing out of his eyes, excited at the newly found freedom, for Hugo didn't cry often.

Yes, the anger was gone, but it left behind a pain so big and monotonous that poor fourteen year old Hugo couldn't help giving in to crying. His father's blurred features penetrated his mind and he cringed at the loss he experienced eight years before. It would have been so different if Ron were still alive. He just knew it. As it was, his father was no longer alive and the events of the previous two hours flooded over him like an incredibly heavy metal blanket that had been heated by the sun. So he couldn't ignore it.

Hugo always thought of himself as a mouse. Not the disgustingly sweet type he used to see in cartoons as a child, but the real type of mouse found in nature. The type of mouse that was more cunning than the snake and never got bitten. Unfortunately, that particular day, Hugo had been eaten, not just bitten.

He had been waiting outside Mr Malfoy's study, lurking behind a rather large cupboard located on the corridor. Hugo had been there for the past two hours, in desperate need of the toilet, but even more desperate for the knowledge hidden behind that hard mahogany door. He could hear Draco's hard voice in a rhythmic continuous conversation with the deep tones of Malfoy senior. Sometimes their volumes increased, as if their fire was constantly fed by oxygen, while at other times they fell so low that only murmurs were audible. In any case, Hugo was certain that enchantments were placed around the study, for even though he was painfully close to the door, their voices remained muffled and he could make out no words from their conversation. Not that he was interested in what they were staying. He had been kept like a muggle lab rat from the outside world, so in order to make his life more comfortable, he decided to make the inside world in which he was kept the centre of his existence.

It was only minutes later that Malfoy came out of his study followed by Malfoy senior and the omnipresent pimp cane. Hugo held his breath as they stopped to talk by the cupboard behind which he was hiding. Malfoy senior reminded his son of a date and time, then reiterated how important it was to be on time as if Draco were not really forty-three year old, but a mere teenager. Hugo tried not to laugh. So caught us was Draco in reminding is father how old he really was, that, to Hugo's advantage, he didn't lock or even close his study door.

It was only natural that as soon as they were gone, Hugo sprinted into the study closing the door behind him and trying to get rid of the pins and needles that were biting his flesh. He started rummaging through various drawers and cupboards, looking for the tiny gold key that held the gateway to his thirst. Surely, a mere library key was not that important to Mr Malfoy so it couldn't be hidden like some sort of treasure.

Indeed, his theory proved correct when a tiny golden object flickered before Hugo's eyes form what appeared to be an accumulation of antique mini statues. He let out a small grin as his vision focused on the little bugger being hooked over a homo-sapiens-with-devil-horns' arm. He took it with no hesitation, opening the glass windows of the vast library behind Mr Malfoy's chair and soon enough hundreds of years of knowledge encapsulated in thousands of volumes of published grimoires, were at his fingertips.

Yet he knew he had no time to spare so his eyes quickly searched for the volume he needed. The library itself seemed to be on the young boy's side, for within seconds, Hugo located the last volume of _The Theory of Potions,_ standing tall and proud on the last shelves. He had been able to find the previous six volumes in libraries that were not locked and guarded by the Dragon, as Hugo called Mr Malfoy. And it wasn't his fault that he was a fast reader. Surely it would have been insanity to leave the series unfinished just because he had forbidden access. He was a book worm like Hermione, but a rebel like Ron. A combination that he would later categorise as fatal. Of course, there was also the option that he could have nicely asked Mr Malfoy to borrow to volume—he intended to return in anyway—but he still held a huge grudge against the man that barred his way to Hogwarts. The Weasley pride factor also played a part. He was in the middle of standing up on Draco's chair and reaching out for the antique book, when a strong hand went around his waist, and, before he could protest, Hugo found himself thrown on the couch, by a very angry looking Dragon. It was also the first time Hugo was heard swearing aloud by an adult, so Draco's eyebrows furrowed together even more.

He had been harshly and unfairly accused of stealing and sneaking around and of foul language unfit for the Manor. Okay, maybe not unfairly, but he was certainly not stealing, thought Hugo. Of course if certainly looked dubious to Mr Malfoy who found the boy looming over his personal library and standing on his best leather armchair with his dirty shoes. He was shouted at and escorted to his room by his ear, and Mr Malfoy left with a promise to tell Hermione everything. He also smirked when the child became a very pale shade of yellow.

So Hugo was now sitting on his bed, his foot still throbbing from the contact with the nightstand and his head threatening to explode with constant thinking. But most of all, he mourned the fact that he failed his mission. He knew it would be suicidal to try Draco's study again, and he was certain the man hid away the key. But it really bugged him knowing that he will forever have a gap to his Potions knowledge, especially since it was a subject that greatly fascinated him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. His skulking face mask was placed back on, aiming perhaps to hide those unshed tears that were threatening to come out. He cleared his throat, preparing his voice to sound strong when the person would ask to come in. But there wasn't another knock. Nor was there a voice asking to come in. The door simply opened to reveal a rather angry looking Hermione, her features even more furious than those of Mr Malfoy. Hugo gulped.

"Hugo Weasley!" she said pointing a finger at him. Hugo looked as if he hoped to be swollen by the bed. "How dare you go through Mr Malfoy's personal library? What were you thinking?" her voice was shouting but it was not loud. It was a Hermione-habit that made both Hugo and Rose cringe when she directed it at them.

"I was just—" he started but couldn't finish for he certainly didn't know what to say. He couldn't exactly tell Hermione of those times when he spent sleepless nights in the Malfoy libraries...nor could he tell her of the several volumes of personal interest that he had stored under his bed. If he did so, he risked being punished for a whole series of crimes. Not just one. And he certainly didn't want to acclaim the title of "mass-murdered".

"You were just what?" she slammed the door and came towards him, her eyebrows raised, expectantly, her hands on her hips. Hermione had the feeling she looked a lot like Mrs Weasley.

"I was bored. I'm sorry...I don't know what came over me," he said in a half sincere voice bowing his head down for effect. When he stole a glance at his mother, Hermione's features softened a little. But it was not the kind of softness that came with forgiveness. It was the softness that came with exasperation and exhaustion. He had to admit, he did feel the tiny hands of guilt. But he quickly brushed them away when remembering how she vehemently refused to let him go to Hogwarts. How she agreed with Malfoy. He still held the grudge.

"Hugo..." she started in a tired voice, "there little acts of boredom of yours are getting a little out of hand. It's not the first time someone in the house complained about your conduct, but it's certainly the first time Mr Malfoy did. Honey, I know it's hard. I know where you'd rather be, but remember we all had to make sacrifices. Please remember our place in this house. Don't let me catch you doing something like this again, or else!" she finished, raising her voice and making him cringe.

"I'm really sorry," started Hugo in a sincere voice. "I promise I won't..."

"Good," said Hermione offering her rebellious son a small smile. He smiled back, but when she left and closed the door, he added, "I won't let you catch me. I won't let anyone catch me."

And the mischievous smile washed over his freckled face once more as his hazel eyes glistened with mirth. Even the brown curls of his hair became more rebellious, as if they sensed his hidden thoughts.

It was like an iron hand with basilisk claws that grabbed Rose's heart and impregnated it with poison. She felt the anger levels within her blood rise to _Malfoy-esque_ levels, all the hunger having disappeared. Half a year later and she could still not get over the way he had made her feel that particular evening. The way he had made her bleed and cry out and wish she could have stayed at Malfoy Manor instead of coming to Hogwarts. She wished Scorpius could have gone to the dungeons via a different corridor, but, with each step that he took towards where she and Lysander stood, his big grey eyes grew more confident and his eyebrows tensed until they threatened to come off his face. Rose couldn't help but roll her eyes.

It was only when Lysander hissed in pain that she realized how hard she was squeezing his hand. Rose quickly let go and mouthed a small sorry, before returning her attention to Scorpius Malfoy, now standing straight and tall in front of them. She gave an involuntary gasp, for she had not seen the state he was in from far away. He was wearing his Slytherin Quidditch robes, and holding a badly damaged Nimbus 3000 in one hand. His left eyebrow was bleeding as was his lower lip and his hair was messy from the mud in which he fell. The left side of his face was decorated by slowly developing purple bruises and part of his dragon skin glove seemed to have been burnt away. Scorpius's eyes did not leave Lysander's face and for a moment Rose had the funny feeling that Scorpius was madly angry beneath that Malfoy mask of his.

"You," he started, pointing his badly injured broom end towards Lysander, "are the most despicable, cheating, fucking arsehole I have ever had the pleasure to do this to!" And without another word, Scorpius punched Lysander in the face, making the latter fall to the ground with a loud moan as rivers of blood sprinted out of his nose. A cascade of unintelligible curse words came out of his mouth, but Scorpius was no longer paying attention to his victim, for his eyes stared intently at Rose.

"What the hell is your problem?!" she cried, kneeling towards Lysander and searching frantically for her wand.

"My problem? _My_ problem?" exclaimed Scorpius, his eyebrows furrowing. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then closed it as if the words waiting to escape were entangled with uncertainty. He gave Rose one last penetrative look, as if he wished to look within her soul. She knew nothing, he thought and with that, he walked past them towards the dungeons, mumbling something inaudible. Rose saw, with great alarm that Scorpius tried his best not to show how badly he was limping. It took her quite a lot of concentration to return her attention back on Lysander, rather than how Scorpius' eyes softened, then saddened before he limped away from her.

"It's okay, Lys, I'll heal you in a minute," she said pointing her wand at him and chanting, "_Episkey."_There was a fairly loud crack and an even louder moan of pain as Lysander's broken nose set itself back in place. Rose handed him a tissue to clean away the blood, her eyes looking absent mindedly at the place where Scorpius stood. "What did you do to him?" she asked Lysander as she helped him stand up. The latter threw her helping hands away, anger slowly taking residence on his face when he realized that Rose was looking at him a little accusingly.

"Why is it that you assume I did something to him?" Strands of his light blonde hair fell over his eyes, but he thrust them away fiercely.

"Because I know him and he wouldn't do something like this unless..."

"Rose," he started seriously, "he is raging with jealousy. Can't you see he's trying to get you back? He's doing this by spitting mud on me. I can't believe it!" he said angrily when Rose didn't respond. "I can't believe you're taking his side!"

"I'm not taking his bloody side, Lysander!" she snapped angrily. "I grew up with him since I was seven...he never acted like this."

"Yeah? Well, people change Rose. You still don't believe that after what he did to you? You need more proof?" His voice was becoming more agitated and rose in anger. Students heading to their common rooms from the Great Hall were giving them and Lysander's bloodied jumper intrigued looks. Some younger students bowed their heads down, as if afraid of the punishment were they to be associated with the scandal.

"Keep your voice down!" she hissed dragging him by the collar of his jumper into a nearby corner, the wall acting as a shield from curious eyes.

"Why should I be the one to keep my voice down? You expect I'll get in trouble for being punched in the face by an idiot like Malfoy?" Lysander's voice had reached such dangerous levels that Rose started looking around for approaching Death Eaters, or teachers, as they liked to be called within Hogwarts.

"No, but you certainly will get in trouble for making such a racket after curfew!" said a deep and rather authoritative sounding voice. Rose and Lysander turned around with great dread, only to be met by the unnaturally unkind and severe looking features of Professor Longbottom. Too bad they were betrayed by his kind eyes, thought Rose and exhaled relieved. She felt Lysander relax next to her as well. "Is there a problem, Mr Scamander?" Lysander shook his head. "Miss Welloby?" he asked, raising his eyebrows when Rose mouthed a small and apologetic "No Professor."

"Then I suggest you take yourselves up to the Common Room. You wouldn't want to give anyone else reason to issue you detentions," he said in a hushed voice as his eyes ran towards the Great Hall entry where Professor Gibbon and Professor Jugson were making their way out. Their dark eyes scanned across the mass of first years walking before them, unaware that their silly mirth might annoy the Death Eaters behind. Neville's eyes widened when Jugson seemed to be taking his wand out, his gaze fixed on a little Huffelpuff girl who was talking a little too loudly for his liking. "Go!" he urged more demandingly as Rose and Lysander sprinted from the scene.

"Ah, Professor Jugson, may I have a word with you?" Neville asked as he approached Bolorius. The latter seemed to be entangled between annoyance and surprise. The first years before him, turned around, their eyes widened in pure terror as they made their way from the Great Hall as quickly and quietly as they could, glad that they left behind the chance of being hexed by their professor. From up a moving staircase, Rose smiled at Professor Longbottom's customary bravery.

"I'm still hungry," skulked Lysander. The annoyance in his voice had been reduced to bearable levels for the evening so Rose got hold of his hand, feeling him relax with her touch.

Alice Thomas's brown eyes looked questioningly at Rose. Her smile broke into an outright grin and then let out a laugh. "He _punched_ him?" she asked, mirth in her voice. "He actually _punched_ him?"

"I fail to find that funny," said Rose giving her a disapproving glare. "He broke his nose, Alice."

"Oh boy," she whispered as they veered left towards the corridor that led them to the History of Magic classroom. Alice failed once again to refrain from laughing. "What did Lysander do to him?"

"He claims he did nothing," said Rose rather annoyed.

"So according to him, Malfoy came up to him and punched him for no apparent reason?"

"That's what I said to him...as much as I happen to hate Scorpius Malfoy, I've known him since I was seven and he really wouldn't do something like this unless Lysander did something first." Rose thought back at the way Scorpius had limped away from her...the way those purple bruises were starting to ornate the left side of his face and the way his bottom lip had bleed. "He looked awful though, as if he flew his broom into the Whomping Willow."

"Flew his broom?"

"He was coming from Quidditch practice," explained Rose, remembering the badly injured base of his Nimbus 3000 and its ruffled hair.

"Maybe someone cursed his broom," she offered, her features becoming pensive. A Quidditch maniac herself, Alice Thomas held a special relationship with brooms. Sometimes Rose had the feeling that she could almost speak to them.

"Lysander wouldn't..." started Rose, but then became uncertain. "I doubt Lysander knows how to..."

"But Lorcan does," said Alice and both girls fell quiet as the almost identical features of Lorcan Scamander, Ravenclaw twin of Lysander and probably one of the biggest pranksters of Hogwarts since Fred and George Weasley, appeared grinning mischievously in their minds.

"It doesn't make any sense though," stared Rose, "because Scorpius knew that it was Lysander he punched and not Lorcan. Besides..."

"Maybe it was Lysander's idea," Alice butted in as they entered their History of Magic classroom with a bunch of dead looking Gryffindors and Huffelpuffs. "But tell me this, Rose: if it was indeed the Scamander twins who cursed his broom, or if his broom has been cursed at all, can you really feel sorry for Malfoy?"

"No!" said Rose almost too quickly. "No...of course not. I would be glad."

Alice raised her eyebrows but said nothing else, as he attention turned to the customary filled chalk board. It was empty.

Rose was lost in her own thoughts for a few moments. Could it be that Lysander did that to Scorpius to take revenge for what he did to her that evening? Did Lysander really care for her that much? She smiled to herself, feeling a warming within her stomach. She almost brushed aside the twinges of worry she felt when seeing Malfoy all bloodied up. Almost.

"Where's Binns?" asked a Huffelpuff boy that usually slept through History of Magic.

"Maybe he finally figured out he's dead," offered Alice, grinning. "Who gives a shit?" she then added and everyone laughed at the sudden realization that they were momentarily free from the customary droning lectures.

It was only natural that Alice's face dropped and melted on her desk s when Binns floated in the classroom through a wall, holding a tedious looking volume. Rose recognised it as Goblin History, a book he recited from twice a month simply because it was not written by humans, therefore "_will give your young minds an insight in the way these complicated creatures perceive the world." _Rose almost rolled her eyes at the memory. However, that particular day Rose could see very clearly how worry took residence between the wrinkles and balding beard of the ghost. Were those purple eye bags she saw on his translucent face? Could ghosts look so drawn, she wondered?

"Ahh...children, I am sorry to announce to you that today's lesson is regrettably cancelled. I know how disappointed you all are..." he continued in similar words as everyone gave one another happy glances. Some even snorted when Binns used the words "disappointed." However all the smiles and all the mirth disappeared once the next sentence escaped from his wraithlike lips. Eyes became serious and whenever Rose and Alice exchanged glances, it was only to share the common dread that befell on the class.

"We have been summoned to the Great Hall."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve—The Show Trial of Arthur Wilkes**

**September 2021**

The walls of the Great Hall had suddenly become dangerous, giving one the eerie feeling of being incarcerated. There were no clouds to prevent the sun from casting its light upon the evens which were to unfold and the silence encompassing the rows of standing students was deafening. They dared not move, as if afraid that they would draw too much attention upon themselves; Slytherins and Gryffindors alike stood as if they had been transfigured into statues, waiting for _him_ to open his mouth and damn the unfortunate with his words.

Dominus Blackwell gave the youngsters before him a cold smile. He had precisely asked for the first and second years to be placed at the front, for they had not seen en mass discipline before. He cast his ice-cooling glare over the sixth and seventh years at the far end, feeding upon their tormented expressions and savouring the fear in their eyes. At last, the smile faded as he walked forward towards them, preparing to speak. Yet he almost laughed as the entire student body struggled to prevent themselves from taking a step back.

"It has come to my attention that discipline here at Hogwarts in the past few weeks has failed to make an impact," he started in a deep, loud voice that seemed unfamiliar with softness and tenderness. "It is not the first time that I have been made aware of incidents of rebellion form the student body. However, there seem to be an increasing number of you who think that it is okay to turn against us...and as a result, as of today there will be an increasing liberty of punishment."

Rose grabbed Lysander's hand tighter, as if hoping that it would distract her form what was to unfold before her eyes. In the past eight years she had come to hate the Minister for Magic to such an extent that she pictured his death many times in her head. It was not the first time Blackwell came to speak to the student body of Hogwarts, however Rose was far too familiar with the feeling of dread he left to stagnate long after his departure. Yet her thoughts were sharply interrupted by the sight before her eyes.

What appeared to be a limp body started approaching the spot where Blackwell stood from a dark corner that went unnoticed by everyone; until then. Yet there was something unnatural about the figure's movements, for his legs took peculiar steps, reminding Rose of a toddler learning to walk...or someone under the Imperius cruse. His hands lay limply by his sides and from time to time, they too would move to and fro, as if the figure had its own puppeteer and strings attached. Almost the entire Ravenclaw house gasped when the realization that the unnatural puppet was, in fact, a classmate of theirs, hit them. Blackwell raised his eyebrows and everyone fell silent again, despite the diffused sobs of a seventh year girl. When the figure reached the spot where Blackwell stood, the latter placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, making him flinch in pain. He then turned to face the rest of the students and smiled as if he was showing them a new house decoration. A house decoration that had been the victim of the Cruciatus curse.

"Arthur here," he started, not removing his hand from the boy's shoulder," has kindly volunteered to show you what will happen to those of you who will step out of line in the future." Rose recognised Arthur Wilkes as being a rather popular seventh year half-blood who had became famous for his Marauder obsession and the pranks he pulled on fellow friends as well as, dangerously, Professor Jugson. She also recalled his mischievous smile. However, on that particular day, there was nothing on Arthur's face. The straight line that made his mouth was unfamiliar to those who befriended him. It was only his eyes, his chocolate brown eyes, that showed the fear within. "Why don't you tell them your _crime_, Arthur?" Piercing grey eyes looked into brown ones with satisfaction once the boy lowered his head and shook it. "You don't want to?" persisted Blackwell. Arthur gave no more signs of even hearing Dominus. He kept his eyes locked to the ground, perhaps hoping to evaporate into the air. "Yes...I'd be ashamed too if I were you," said Dominus.

A moment of silence followed, in which Blackwell did not stop staring at poor Arthur, perhaps expecting the young man to beg for pardon. He knew pardon was never to be granted to such people, yet he would have enjoyed the tortured expression on the boy's face. As it was, that day Dominus Blackwell had forgotten his patience at home, and soon, a hunger of hurting the rebellious youth in front of him took over. When he spoke, his words were hard and pitiless. He even cast an annoyed glance towards the seventh year Ravenclaw girl who didn't take her eyes of Arthur and who kept weeping. "QUIET!" he bellowed and the girl's voice quietened instantly as she looked down at her shoes, her dark wavy hair covering her face like a curtain of silk.

"We shall proceed to the execution of your punishment, then Arthur," said Dominus nodding towards Jugson who came forth holing a small flask of clear looking liquid. He handed it to Dominus with a smirk, and then resumed his place near the Slytherin students. Blackwell, hesitated no more, and forced the liquid down Arthur's throat. "You are now under the effects of Veritaserum. I will start interrogating you and you shall reply to all of my questions truthfully whether you like it or not. At the end, you shall be allowed to make a statement..." he said allowing a small smirk to appear on his face, "although, judging by the seriousness of your crime, I doubt your statement will save you, boy." Arthur's eyebrows furrowed together, but he did not have time to show his emotions, because Dominus started firing questions at him.

"Arthur Wilkes, do you deny resisting joining the Death Eater ranks when the Ministry sent your appointment for the ceremonial giving of the Dark Mark, one week prior to this meeting?"

"I do not," replied Arthur in a surprisingly strong voice, looking straight into Dominus' eyes with pride.

"Do you deny persuading others from your house to attend their ceremonial appointments?"

"I do not," he said looking towards a group of seventh year Ravenclaws who held their heads little higher than the rest of their house.

"Arthur Wilkes, is it true that you have a tattoo of Harry Potter's scar on your left wrist, under which the letters "D.A" are inscribed?"

Arthur allowed himself a small mischievous smile. Instead of replying to Blackwell, he unrolled his Hogwarts school sleeve and held up his left arm. From the back of the Great Hall, Rose fought the urge to gasp. Her eyes almost filled with tears at Arthur's mad bravery. She shot a glance towards the girl who had been previously crying. Her eyes were no longer wet and her head was up high, not once turning away from Arthur being surrounded by armed Death Eaters.

"Arthur Wilkes, do you understand that your actions fall under the definition of treason?"

"I do," replied the boy as fear returned in his voice.

"Are you aware that treason is the worst type of crime under this regime?"

"Yes."

"Then, Mr Wilkes, is there anything you would like to say for yourself?"

A moment of silence followed in which Arthur closed his eyes, searching deep inside for some sort of courage. A few minutes of it was all he needed, for he knew that the consequences of his actions would probably be grave.

"My words will make no difference," he started, opening his eyes and looking straight at Blackwell, "because mine is a lone voice. But not for long. You see, a few years back, no one dared to question the new regime. This is slowly changing. I may have to sacrifice myself today, but I know that in a few years time, Voldemort will fall back into the murderous grave from which he rose."

"You are wrong," said Blackwell.

"Fuck you!"

"Don't you dare use such foul language in my presence, boy!" Dominus Blackwell hovered over the chair on which Arthur was sitting, adopting the calm and poisonous tone that he used just before he announced the verdict of his interrogation. "And, you were wrong. You did not just sacrifice yourself for this treason." A look of horror appeared upon Arthur's face when Dominus looked towards the crying girl. "Arthur Wilkes, you are seventeen years of age, therefore you shall be treated like an adult criminal. For resisting our implementation of law and order, you shall be deprived of your magical abilities and then sentenced to the Dementor Kiss in Azkaban."

The Ravenclaw girl erupted in fresh sobs. Arthur Wilkes was no longer given permission to speak, as two Death Eaters from the Ministry grabbed him from the chair and forcefully held him down to the ground, by his arms and legs. Blackwell seemed thoroughly satisfied when tears sprinted out of the boys' eyes. He nodded towards another Ministry official who took out of his briefcase of flask of black liquid and handed it to Dominus, who forced it down Arthur's throat. The other Death Eaters let go of him as he started convulsing on the ground, screaming in pure agony as the black liquid burned his insides, searching for that which made him a wizard. And when it found it, Arthur Wilkes spat blood mixed with a misty white substance. When the process finished, Arthur was convulsing away unconsciously. Dominus took the boy's wand from his grip and broke it in half declaring: "Arthur Wilkes, as of today you are no longer a wizard. As of tomorrow you shall cease to be human."

Blackwell then turned towards the crying first years and petrified sixth and seventh years and, with an evil smirk he said: "All houses, apart from Ravenclaw are now dismissed. Let this be a lesson to you all. Please leave the Great Hall quietly."

From the corner of her eyes, Rose saw Dominus Blackwell walking towards the crying Ravenclaw girl. The moment she and Lysander walked out of the Great Hall, the latter dragged her from the mass of Gryffindors sprinting towards the common room.

"I can't leave him," said Lysander, his hands shaking almost as much as hers, and his eyes not hiding the fear for his twin Ravenclaw brother.

"If they catch us..."

"_Me_. If they catch _me_. You're going to the common room, Rose. You're not staying here." He removed his hands from hers and got hold of her upper arms protectively. "I'm not going to do anything stupid...I'll just hide somewhere...Rose I need to see him coming out of the Great Hall...I need to see that he's not missing a leg or an arm or..."

"I'm staying with you," she declared.

"Absolutely not," he protested.

"Lysander, I'm not going anywhere," she persisted in a stubborn voice and glared at him with big green eyes. He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. In the end he nodded defeated, the fear he felt for Lorcan too prominent for him to be able to argue with her. "Come on," he said and they quickly ran inside a broom cupboard that overlooked the Great Hall entrance. They closed the doors and took turns peering through the keyhole for the moment when the Ravenclaw house, or what would be left of it, would be released from Death Eater chains.

Hermione watched as Melvin left the kitchen that afternoon. He was always the house that stayed last, to make sure that no pots and pans, no spices, no herbs were out of place. Wiping her hands on her apron, she sat down on a wooden chair and placed her head in her hands.

"I'm not going to, I'm not going to..." she half whispered, refusing to allow herself to look towards the cupboard above the sink. It had been seven years in which she had been strong. Seven years in which she had not touched alcohol. Seven years in which she resisted the temptation.

Yet in those seven years, the pain of losing Ron and the baby only intensified. His features did not fade, his eyes did not lose their light, his lips didn't stop frowning. He didn't stop accusing her. And there had been other dreams too. Dreams in which a baby was crying in a room at the far end of a corridor. She would run towards that room, only to find it locked, the key missing. And then she would wake up, her face wet with tears, her heart broken and twisted, her hands clenching the pillows.

Hermione let her hands drop from her forehead and looked up at that particular cupboard that withheld oblivion and numbness. She hadn't been allowed to feel the touch of numbness in years...and she longed for it. In those moments when her world fell apart, numbness had been everything that kept her together. Numbness and Draco. She smiled at the way he used to keep her occupied.

It had taken her six years to clean the Malfoy libraries. She spent her days in there, stealing the secrets of the books...feeling the parchment on her skin, filling her mind with information she was never to use, just because it kept the pain away. And at night, she would fall asleep, her mind induced in the mild euphoria of learning she had not experienced since her school days. Sometimes she lied to herself...pretended that she was a teacher at Hogwarts, memorised new potions and new brews to keep the flood of memories away. At other times, she found herself reading novels, getting lost in worlds that were not hers, pretending to be some character whose inner thoughts were not exposed.

And there had been other ways in which Draco had helped her cope. Sometimes late at night he would come in her chamber to make sure she was okay. Sometimes she was half asleep, but feeling his presence nevertheless. At other times, Draco would find her starting out of the window, waiting for morning to come just because she couldn't keep the nightmares at bay. And in those moments when she could not sleep, Draco would come and embrace her. And she allowed herself to fall prisoner to his touch, to his whispers, to the way their bodies moved in a synchronised waltz, entangled within bed sheets. Making love had been a distraction, at first, for he was wifeless and she craved for distraction from thinking. But then it had turned into something more...it was as if they both cancelled each other's pain out, simply because they were both suffering. And something more than friendship had sprung between them, yet it was still something they both didn't fully want to acknowledge.

Hermione stood up form the chair and walked towards the sink. She was okay, she thought. She was strong. It no longer affected her to have a drink. One glass wouldn't make a difference...it would just allow her senses to numb out. It would allow her to sleep that night, for sleep was something she missed almost as much as Ron. Before she allowed the other part of the argument to develop in her mind, she quickly opened the cupboard and took out a bottle of red wine and a glass, placing them both on the table. But then she took a moment to look at the dark red liquid, tempting her through the translucent glass. She thought she ought to be stronger than that...to have more courage. But it wasn't courage she lacked. It was strength. So, before she could hesitate again, she opened the bottle of wine and poured some into the glass until it was half full. Then she stopped, put the lid back on and then placed it back in its customary place in the cupboard above the sink. Half a glass could do no harm, she thought. And then she drank, sitting back down on the wooden chair, enjoying the rare silence within the kitchen.

Hermione closed her eyes against the taste, imagining how it washed away the dried blood left behind by Ron and how it closed the open scars of losing the baby. The glass soon emptied and her hands reached for more. She stood up, took the bottle out of the cupboard and poured herself another drink. And when that one finished, the third glass became a necessity.

But by then, the intoxication was no longer kind. Babies started crying, and Ron wouldn't wake up from his sleep, no matter how hard she tried to shake him. Rose shot her hurt looks as she climbed on the Hogwarts Express and Hugo shouted at her to leave him alone and ran away from the room. The tears came, as her hand tightened around the glass. She felt sick. She could not drink it...she felt repulsed at her weakness and she felt angry for falling into temptation. She held on to the glass so tightly that it shattered to pieces in her hand, cutting through the flesh and making her bleed. And soon, the wine became the torturer who played with her most vulnerable emotions. She took the bottle and smashed it against the wall as the sobs erupted. It had been a while since she felt so overwhelmed.

But then he came, like he always did, taking her in his arms.

Scorpius Malfoy stared at the note in his hands with a mixture of anger and fear. It was as if the corridors leading out of the Slytherin dungeons had suddenly become narrower, as if the lights in the corners had dimmed. He breathed in, but if felt as if his lungs were being deprived of air. And then he stopped walking.

"Okay, Scorpius," he whispered to himself, "you are acting like a bloody girl." He unfolded the piece of parchment that Professor Jugson had delivered to him in the Slytherin common room, and re-read it, as if hoping to find some reassuring comment hidden behind the elegantly written words. However, the simplicity, the formality and the coldness that emitted form it, did nothing to settle down his nerves.

_Your presence is requested in the Great Hall. DB._

He wondered what Blackwell wanted with him. He kept walking, but images of Arthur's face, crumpled into a sheet of painful emotions entered his mind and refused to let go, until his breathing accelerated. When the doors of the Great Hall became visible at the far end of the corridor, his stomach turned upside down and threatened to let out the content of his lunch. He desperately scanned back for points where he might have annoyed Jugson or Gibbon or any other Death Eaters within the castle, but his search turned out to be futile.

And so it happened that Scorpius was too caught up in his own thoughts to hear the mass of Ravenclaw students coming out of the Great Hall, or to even see the door of the cupboard on his left opening and Rose and Lysander coming out to get lost in the row of Ravenclaws.

"Ah, Mr Malfoy."

He was slapped across the face by the wet fish of reality as he snapped out of his tormented daydream. Dominus Blackwell was standing by the entrance of the Great Hall, looking at him with his customary smirk. The Ravenclaw murmurings stopped as they looked at him with a mixture of pity and fear. Scorpius's eyes were kidnapped from their faces, by the girl who had been crying during the show trial of Arthur Wilkes. Annabelle...if he recalled correctly was disfigured by a red, long and swollen cut on the left side of her face that ran all the way down her neck and stopped abruptly when it reached her collarbone, blood running down into her hair and soaking her shirt in crimson. She was no longer crying, yet her eyes seemed deprived of their customary human light. It was as if, through that cut, her soul had been ripped apart.

And then he felt someone's eyes burning him in a familiar way, for there, between Lorcan and Lysander, Rose Welloby stared at him, wide eyed, pale and worried. She opened her mouth as if to say something to him, but the Scamander twins ushered her forward, while Lysander gave him a smirk similar to that of Blackwell's. Scorpius couldn't help snorting at the Sorting Hat's mistake. No...Lysander was no Gryffindor. He was far too cunning and there was the customary Slytherin evilness hidden deep within, for Scorpius knew one when he saw one.

Yet as the Ravenclaws veered left, it was Annabelle's scarred features that looked at him last in a haunted way. He saw her screaming and crying when he turned to face Blackwell. He saw the dagger slicing her flesh, he saw the satisfaction in Dominus Blackwell's eyes and he couldn't help glaring. Blackwell raised his eyebrows, looking down at the grey-eyed youth before him.

"Those who break the rules will always be punished, Scorpius. I trust you, out of all people know that," said Blackwell placing a hand on Scorpius's neck and dragging him inside the Great Hall as the doors closed.

Yes, Scorpius did know. In fact, Scorpius didn't just know. Scorpius had experienced. There were memories he could never fully abandon as the years passed. There were memories that still haunted him at night sometimes, memories that tore apart sleep and ate it before Scorpius could save it. After all, Dominus Blackwell did insist on calling himself Scorpius Malfoy's stepfather, for in the months following his eight birthday, Astoria Malfoy left the Manor to go and live with her new lover, Blackwell. The following year, she became Mrs Blackwell, and, until Scorpius reached the age of fourteen, magical law indicated that Draco and Astoria were to have joint custody of their only son.

If he ever argued with his mother, it was Dominus who dealt with the disobedient chid. If Scorpius ever broke a vase, stayed up after his curfew, or worse, demanded to go live with his father, Dominus would make sure young Scorpius wouldn't be able to sit down for days to come. There was a certain room up in the Blackwell attic that Scorpius had had nightmares about. At the age of fourteen, Scorpius was given the choice to choose a permanent residence and, naturally, he chose to live with Draco. Draco who had never laid a hand on him. Draco who, form the day his mother didn't stop Blackwell from hitting him, became his only parent. Draco who had always wondered why his child became quieter in the years to come, why his child would wake up screaming in the middle of the night. And Scorpius made sure that Draco never found out the way Dominus had treated him, because he was afraid to lose his only parent. It was only Rose that knew what he went through. It was only Rose who knew the real Scorpius Malfoy. And for a reason Scorpius could not completely comprehend, Rose seemed to hate him as much as he did.

"You must be wondering why I've summoned you here," said Dominus letting go of Scorpius's neck and turning to face him. Scorpius said nothing. "I have an important meeting later, so I will get straight to the point. This means, Scorpius, that I expect your full cooperation. If you make me miss my meeting, there will be serious consequences. Is that understood?" he asked raising his eyebrows.

Scorpius said nothing; he just continued glaring at Blackwell, until the latter tensed his eyebrows and flared his nose trills. He closed his eyes, and said in a deadly voice: "When I ask you a question, I expect an answer. Let's try that again, shall we? _Is that understood_?"

"Yes," said Scorpius trying not to sound too rude.

"Yes, what?" asked Dominus in a severe voice which highlighted that he was starting to lose his patience. His pale eyes sent chills down Scorpius' spine.

"Yes, _sir_."

"Good. Now, Scorpius, your mother is terribly distressed. I have been made aware that this month alone she sent five letters," he said pacing in front of Scorpius. "Do you know how many replies she received?"

"That would be impossible," started Scorpius unable to contain his anger any longer, "because you haven't told me who she sent the letters to."

The next moment, Dominus Blackwell's backhand struck his cheek, making him lose his balance for a moment. But Scorpius did not fall. He made no sound, he just continued glaring. "Don't be cheeky with me, young man," he whispered so close to his face that Scorpius fought the urge to take a step back. "I will not say it again, Scorpius, so listen carefully. How many replies did she receive?" he asked raising his voice towards the end of the sentence.

"None."

"That's right. You didn't reply to one single letter. May I ask why that is?"

"I was busy."

"Busy doing what?"

"Quidditch matches...lessons, homework," he said lamely.

"I see. Let me tell you something; your mother is going to send you another letter tomorrow. I'm sure you have a very busy and important life, Scorpius, but if you do not reply the day you receive it, I will come straight to Hogwarts and make sure you are not to play Quidditch again. Is that understood?"

Scorpius hesitated replying for a moment, but then he said, "Yes, sir." He knew Dominus meant every threat he handed out.

"Good. I expect you'll keep your promise. You are excused," he said and without another word he turned his back on Scorpius and walked towards the place where Ministry officials tied Arthur's legs and hands together, preparing him for side along apparition. Scorpius walked out of the Great Hall, his nose flaring, and his breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists. Every person who strayed across his path became Dominus Blackwell to him.

Draco Malfoy wiped the blood from Hermione's palm with a wet cloth. She did not hiss in pain despite the fact that the cut was rather deep. She stared into a world he could not see, a world in which perhaps her husband was still alive and her son less rebellious. Draco felt a surge of jealousy take over him. He hated the way Hermione's thoughts of Ron affected him. He took out his wand, and with a quick spell, the blood that decorated the pale skin of her palm went back into the open wound that closed, leaving her hand as good as new. Hermione did not register this.

Draco sat down on the margin of the bed—his bed—for he did not take her into her room, but his. He had no idea why his legs led him there, for despite their new found relationship, he resisted taking her into the room he had once shared with Astoria. And yet Hermione looked as if she had always belonged there. He could picture her sitting in front of the mirror, doing her hair, getting ready for a ball...

"I'm sorry," she said barely above a whisper, her brown eyes finally looking at him. He said nothing for a moment, not because he was tongue-tied, but because he really did not know what to say. Sometimes the internal battles she fought with herself were out of his reach. He could not always help her, despite the fact that he wanted to be her saviour. If he succeeded being that for her, he saved himself as well. "Draco...I drank...I promised I wouldn't..."

"I don't know about you, but to me it seemed as if you were having a fight with the wine bottle," he said in a serious tone that made her give him a small smile. "It's okay..." he soothed. "You didn't get drunk."

It was the way he said that, which overwhelmed her. She wanted to mentally kick herself for tasting alcohol after so many years, yet not once did it occur to her that the substance did not actually intoxicate her. It was as if she needed him to remind her. "I didn't," she repeated.

A moment of silence followed. Draco caressed her cheek for a moment, while she looked down, her long eyelashes hiding her eyes and casting long shadows on her cheeks. When she looked up again, he was merely inches away from her. She could feel his warm breath on her face as he moved closer, his lips touched hers, his hands ran down and stopped on her waist as he pulled himself on top of her. "Don't..." she whispered when their lips parted..."don't do it Just to steal away my mind..."

"Oh, Hermione..." he said and laughed a little. "Don't you understand? I need this as much as you do..."

She said nothing else as his lips crushed hers in a passionate kiss, her hands working away at his shirt, while his hands moved up towards her breasts. She opened her legs to him, inviting him in and just like that they were both lost in a mild euphoria between the bed sheets. And so entangled were they in one another, that neither heard the door opening. They didn't acknowledge the presence of a boy with curly brown hair, whose eyes showed feelings of betrayal and grief at the loss of a father who should have been in the place of the blonde man. They didn't see Hugo's open mouth and the tears that were slowly forming inside his eyes. Nor were they aware of him as he ran from the scene which crushed the foggy memory of his father. They were not aware at the anger that drove young Hugo Weasley towards the forbidden part of the dungeons, because he had lost his sense of direction. They did not see him, for, while embraced in each other's arms, their worlds collided, pain was impossible to experience and memories were irrelevant. It was the time they allowed themselves to recharge with strength. To go on.

Of course, that was not the way Hugo Weasley saw it.

Rose Weasley lingered outside the dungeons, feeling terribly silly and slightly nervous. While Lorcan and Lysander had been busy talking in the Library of the things that had unfolded in the Great Hall, Rose made up the excuse that she needed the toilet. She hoped they did not question her whereabouts, despite the fact that she had been missing for the past half an hour or so.

But as much as she hated Scorpius Malfoy, she had to make sure that he was okay.

"Take that thought away, Rose," she whispered to herself, walking up and down the corridor. "He broke you in half, he broke you in half, he broke you in half..." she repeated, hoping to invoke some of the pain he made her feel. Maybe that way she would go away. She focused on his face, as he smirked at her tear stained face, and then turned away towards his laughing friends. How did he say it? "_Who do you think you are...you thought you'd have a chance...with me?" _Did he laugh after? Yes, yes...he did. That evil laugh that she never heard before. It was as if he had been possessed, and yet he seemed to be himself. Evilness, was after all something that ran in the blood of his family. Should she really be so surprised?

She remembered tearing apart the dress she once hoped would steal his glance. She had made quite a racket in the girls' dormitory, for that night, Scorpius Malfoy hurt her in a new and alien way. She had never experienced the wrath of love before...just the pain of losing a father. But no...that night she lost her best friend as well as her boyfriend.

"Then what the hell are you doing here?" she heard herself say. Yes, that was a good question. What was she doing there? He didn't bloody deserve her worry. If something did happen to him, then rumours would spread around quickly, she would easily find out. No point lingering outside the Slytherin common room to wait for him.

Rose ran a hand through her hair and started making her way up the corridor and away from the dungeons. She really didn't fancy being caught up by Professor Jugson out of her area...he might accuse her of being up to something just so he can issue her detention. And after the events which unfolded in the Great Hall that day, she really didn't want to receive too much attention form Death Eaters.

"Rose?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, but refused to turn around straight away. She was glad that the dungeons were darker than the other corridors, for she was almost certain that her emotions were showing very clearly on her face. She turned around to face Scorpius Malfoy, trying to put on a careless mask. But the careless mask quickly fell to the ground and shredded to pieces when she saw the state he was in.

"What happened to your face?" she asked, her eyes immediately running to the swollen bruise on his left cheek. She involuntary took a step towards him, but his eyebrows tensed as he looked down at her. It seemed to Rose as if he would snap at anyone who asked him about his precious bruise.

"What are you doing down here?" he asked, walking away from her and towards the Slytherin common room entrance, as if he really didn't care that she was there.

"Nothing. I had to check the Potions lab for something," she lied, hoping he didn't see through it.

"Right," he said, not looking at her.

Rose realized how cold his voice sounded. It was as if he saw someone else when he spoke to her. For months after they broke out, whenever Scorpius spoke to her in lessons, he seemed apologetic and embarrassed. Yet he never said sorry. The cold voice with which he addressed her that day was almost the same voice that he used that evening.

"Who gave you that bruise?" she asked again.

"I had it since yesterday at Quidditch. Why don't you ask your boyfriend," he said in a poisonous tone. He was no longer able to contain the anger he wanted to direct at Blackwell.

"Scorpius. Firstly, all the other injuries that you had yesterday are gone. Secondly, you did not have this bruise yesterday and..."

"Why do you care?" he asked, taking a step towards her.

_I've been asking myself the same question_, thought Rose.

"I don't," she said in an equally cold voice, for he acted almost as if he blamed her for what had happened between them. "It was Blackwell, wasn't it?

"It's none of your bloody business!" he said, raising his voice. "Just stop obsessing over me and go screw Scamander, will you?" He regretted the words as soon as they escaped his mouth. Blackwell's face disappeared, leaving behind a pain-struck Rose. "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Save it, Malfoy!" Her voice was equally cold as she turned around before he could see that she fought the urge to cry, and walked away from him. Scorpius felt like torturing himself and murdering Dominus Blackwell as he walked through the doors of the Slytherin common room groaning.

"It is my business," she whispered angrily, "because as much as I hate you, Scorpius Malfoy, I'm still in love with you."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen—Lilium Longiflorum **

**September 2021**

Hugo Weasley felt the chilling hands of betrayal as they grabbed him from behind and possessed his mind with poisonous images. They stabbed his mind with anger as Draco Malfoy appeared and disappeared before his eyes. They made him cringe at the way he touched, kissed and embraced his mother. _His mother_. Hermione Jean Weasley.

He was heading further down into the dungeons with no sense of direction as his thoughts were too occupied with what he had just witnessed. He did not take notice of the fading light, nor of the fact that it was becoming decidedly colder with each step that he took. He was blinded by a new hatred he felt towards Draco Malfoy, a new hatred that he felt towards Malfoy Manor and all that had to do with the old aristocratic name. He wished his mother could have made the decision to remain on the streets all those years ago. He wished he could have been homeless, because that way he did not feel as if he had failed Ron in taking care of Hermione.

His hands became fists and he let out an angry cry as he punched the wall. It was his entire fault, he thought. It was his entire fault, because if he had been there for his mother more...she wouldn't have run in Malfoy's arms for comfort. He tried thinking of moments when his parents were together, moments when they held hands or kissed, but time had taken its toll on his mind for the memories were too foggy to be discerned. He no longer knew whether they were made up, or just fragments of his imagination that he had created for comfort.

As these monster thoughts engulfed his mind, Hugo Weasley veered left and right, into parts of the dungeons he had never seen before. Parts of the dungeons that were better left undisturbed, for not even the house elves ventured there to clear the cobwebs and lichens forming on humid walls. So it was only when Hugo reached a large wooden door, battered with age and fatigue, that his thoughts diminished and he started considering his whereabouts.

"Shit," he half whispered as the realization hit him. Had he veered left and then right, or did he walk straight on that narrow corridor until the darkness decided which direction he had taken? Looking around he felt disorientated and stupid. Why didn't he just moan to himself in the attic? Why, out of all places in that blasted manor, did he choose the dungeons? "Stupid Weasley irrationality..." he half mumbled and felt the urge to kick something. However, the urge disappeared as swiftly as it came when, from behind the antique door, a moan of despairing anger made him take a few steps back. His eyes widened in shock, but he dared not move further, even though the lone cry had ceased seconds ago.

The only noise that pounded in his ears was the sound of his own heart beating against his ribcage...the rhythmic _thud _that pumped blood through his veins and made his senses stand on edge. And then it came again, the same moan, slightly louder, slightly tortured and yet...slightly un-earthly. And this time Hugo knew what he had just discovered...or re-discovered if he allowed himself to be more precise. He knew that behind the old, battered door, was the mad man that had puzzled and terrified him all those years ago. And instead of running as far away as possible from that place which sent chills down his spine, Hugo took a step forward and then another, until his ear was pressed against the humid wood of the door.

Rose glanced nervously at Professor Jugson's features. He could have been quite attractive if the lines engraved in his forehead showed not the marks of evil. His lower lip was fuller than his upper lip, giving him a heart shaped mouth, and yet, Rose could not picture this man having a heart at all, let alone marks of bearing one deep within his chest. Or maybe, thought Rose, his heart was hidden so deep within him, that he could have forgotten he had one. Yes, that would explain the almost absolute absence of light from his black eyes. The bags beneath his eyes gave one the eerie feeling that he spent too much time buried beneath the school in the dungeons brewing potions that might aid the Dark Lord with new torture methods.

Rose and Alice exchanged worried glances as Jugson approached Tom's desk. Dark purple fumes were still steaming from Tom's cauldron, creating a grave contrast with the pale lilac fumes shown in their Advanced Potions Making textbook. The end of his lithium long spoon was melted to the core and Rose watched as Tom gradually sank into his chair with each step that Jugson took. The silence in the classroom was violent, and the echoes of Jugson's shoes on the stone wall made many cringe.

"Mr Williams," started Jugson in a deep and calm voice that made Tom gulp once rather audibly. "As I'm sure you're aware, the equipment you _were_ using today belonged to the school. Remind me, again, why is this?"

Tom's previously ghostly pale face now started going slightly red. He looked down at the cauldron he had just set on fire; the dark fumes making his potions partner cough ever few minutes and the melted lithium spoon and his cheeks went slightly crimson.

"Well?" persisted Jugson.

"Because my mum couldn't afford to buy my Potions equipment this year..." he said in a barely audible voice.

"Ah!" exclaimed Jugson with an evil smirk as if he had just discovered a shiny new penny stuck onto the back of his shoe. "Mr Williams, has your mother ever told you that when you are using someone else's belongings, you have to be extra careful to give them back the way they were?"

Tom did not reply. He could barely even look into Jugson's stone like features. Rose felt like throwing a cauldron at Jugson's evil smirk. "Well, Mr Williams, then how did your mother manage to buy you Potions equipment last year?"

"She...she had a job last year."

"I see. And what did she do?"persisted Jugson. Rose had a weird and worrying feeling within her stomach that what seemed like a pain-free interrogation would turn into something much, much graver. She knew this particular voice that Jugson was using...he was like a tarantula, luring his victims into a thick, sticky web that not even the wind and the rain could wash away. She knew this particular voice because back in fifth year, Jugson had _played_ with her as if she were nothing more than a fly whose wings had been broken. She still had the scars from that blood quill that the Ministry had re-introduced at his request. "Mr Williams, when I ask you a question, I expect an answer." Jugson's voice seemed to have lost its patience.

"She worked in a bakery," answered Tom.

"That, is a very interesting statement, _Tom_," he said and Rose felt herself feeling with dread. _So now he was using first names_, she thought. It would not be long until he would explode. _Or make Tom explode_, a small voice within her head said, "Because I do not recall seeing your mother's name on the employment list last year. And I have a very good memory," he continued. "Are you sure you are not lying to me? You know what the consequences for lying are."

"I'm not lying," pleaded Tom, dread filling his voice. "She worked in a small bakery in central London..."

"London? Ah...you mean _muggle_ London?"

_Don't...don't...don't_, thought Rose, closing her eyes. She felt Alice stiffen next to her. Tom's _yes _was barely audible, but when Rose's eyelids opened, the smirk on Jugson's face was enough for her to understand that the spider was about to make another victim. She inwardly swore.

"As far as I can remember, Mr Williams, your mother is a pure blood witch, am I correct?"

"Yes sir," said Tom, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

"And your father?"

"He's not alive anymore."

"Why are you avoiding answering my question, Tom?" The acrimony in Jugson's voice had reached dangerous levels and it was slowly becoming impregnated with inwards fatal poison. Rose wondered how long until he would strike. "Is it possibly because your father was a mudblood?"

"No sir," said Tom looking down.

"A muggle, then?" persisted Jugson in an equally quiet, yet deadly voice.

When Tom Williams did not reply, Jugson took out his wand. "Well...it seems that I will have to alert the Ministry to pay your mother a visit sometime this week...it is awfully unacceptable for a pure blood witch to surround herself with filthy muggles..." Tom's face became decidedly pale and he started babbling out incomprehensible pleas... "But in the meantime, Tom, you must be punished for your intolerable behaviour in my classroom. Seventy points from Gryffindor for not paying attention to the clearly set out instructions regarding the potion you had to brew today." He broke his torturous eyes away from Tom and addressed the entire classroom. "You have all been made aware by the Minister himself that we are now permitted to use heavier punishments on those of you, who like Mr Williams over here, believe it is acceptable to treat us with rudeness."

Rose threw a second imaginary cauldron towards Jugson's head and in her own mind, where many things were still possible, she screamed that accidentally burning a spoon and setting a cauldron on fire was not considered rudeness. She then imagined throwing a dictionary towards Jugson's already injured head. But outside her own mind, Rose looked as terrified and worried as the rest of the Gryffindors and the majority of Slytherins in the classroom. She was holding on to the edge of her wooden desk rather hardly, as Alice was trying to hide her face from the scene via her Potions manual.

"Now, Mr Williams...this may sting a little..._Crucio_!"

And within seconds, Tom was reduced to a mass of muscles, skin a bones, convulsing in pain and screaming his lungs out. He fell from his chair onto the stone cold floor and tried to grab it, hoping that he could throw it over himself like a blanket that would block out the pain. But over and over again, Tom felt as if he was being stabbed by a thousand venomous knives that tore him apart. And when Jugson finally liberated him from the curse, his muscles were so contracted, that fierce pain was still there. His lungs were too tired; he could no longer scream...he just whimpered on the floor.

"Let this be a lesson to you all. You have five minutes to complete your potions and then you will bring your flasks to me. Those of you who will score under six, may expect to suffer a similar fate to Mr Williams." Jugson finished his deadly speech and, without even glancing at poor Tom, he took a seat at his desk, lurking over the stone-like class like a vulture.

"Wormwood...wormwood...we just have to add wormwood..." repeated Rose in a shaky voice, trying to prevent herself from looking at Tom, sprawled on the floor inches from where she stat. "Wormwood..." she repeated more to herself than to Alice who was in a trance lie sate, as she picked the content from a jar and was about to place it in the boiling cauldron, when she felt the intensity of someone's eyes burning the back of her head, followed by someone calling her name. Her hand automatically stopped and she discretely turned around to meet the icy glare of Scorpius Malfoy. She wanted to furrow her eyebrows at him, especially after the way he had treated her earlier, yet there was something rather grave hidden behind his eyes. She also realized that she was not the only one in the classroom to be staring at him.

Scorpius mouthed a quick _two_. Many eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Two...?" whispered Rose. Scorpius rolled his eyes and mouthed _two_ again, this time pointing at the Potions textbook. Rose quickly glanced at Jugson who seemed to have started marking an unfortunate soul's essay. Then she looked at the textbook and re-read the instructions...

**_Four essences of Dittany (stir twice anticlockwise and once clockwise at five minutes past the hour)_**

**_Two petals of Aconite (leave to boil for five seconds, and then stir anticlockwise)_**

**_Four spoons of Shrivelfig left to dry (use the basic law of alchemy to add)_**

**_Leave content to cool for half an hour_**

**_Three doses of wormwood_**

Rose furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as she looked at her notes...all the directions and ingredients were the same except for the wormwood. Did she accidentally copy the instructions down incorrectly? Two or three doses? She knew wormwood was exceptionally flammable and could cause explosions when combined with Shrivelfig, especially if the moon was in its waning phase. Rose looked at Alice's manual which also said three does, yet when looking at her notes, she had also copied down two doses. But that was explainable, thought Rose, since Alice always copied Rose's notes.

Scorpius coughed. Twice. Looking around the room, the majority of people looked at each other worriedly. It was impossible that the entire class copied the wrong instructions. Scorpius Malfoy dropped his manual on the floor. The book fell with a loud thud.

"Of course..." whispered Rose as the realization hit her. She turned around just in time to catch Alice's hand and prevent her from adding the third essence of wormwood to the potion. She shocked her head at Alice's bewildered expression and mouthed "two".

"What?" whispered Alice in a confused voice.

"Three doses will make it..."

An explosion was heard from the far end of the classroom, as the cauldron of a Slytherin boy whose name Rose could not remember, rolled from the table onto the floor, leaving behind it a trail of burnt wood, stone and smoke. The boy looked bewildered at his manual, then at his notes and finally at Jugson's murderous expression.

"Mr Jackson...you are to remain after class."

The boy looked down at Tom William's unconscious body. He felt his heart being grabbed by a claw of terror. He wanted to take it all back...especially the laugh that escaped his lips when Tom was being tortured.

"...explode." finished Rose as everyone else in the class placed the third essence of wormwood back into the jar and relieved that were not the ones to remain after class. Rose heard several spoons of "thank you" being fired in Scorpius' direction in mere whispers. And yet something deep within her heart, something that still hurt and ached and stung, made her ignore this and ignore the eyes that burned her back.

Her pride would not allow her to thank Scorpius Malfoy.

"Fucking cheating arsehole!" spat Alice as they walked away from the dungeons. Rose dragged her towards a wall as two Gryffindor boys carried Tom Williams to the infirmary. "He changed the manual, didn't he? He did it right when we were too busy looking at how he was tormenting poor Tom. We have to report him!"

Rose laughed. "To whom? The Dark Lord?"

Alice ignored her sardonic comment and continued in an angry voice: "I bet you that Tom Williams used that blasted manual...I bet he followed the instructions to perfection until bloody Jugson..."

"Jinxed his cauldron?"

Alice and Rose turned around to face Scorpius Malfoy.

"Precisely," said Alice, turning to look at Rose.

"May I have a word?" Scorpius turned to face Rose with the same peculiar look hidden behind his icy stare. It was as if, within all the ice, a deep fire was burning, a fire that Rose thought had long died. But, she thought as her rationale caged her heart and hid it deep within her chest, how long till all the ice would melt and flood that fire?

"I'm sorry, Malfoy, I have to go and...how did you put it..._screw_ Lysander? Now, if you'll excuse me..." she said with as a very Malfoy-esque smirk appeared on her face before she veered left and out of his sight. Alice looked at Scorpius with wide eyes and an O-shaped mouth, while Scorpius turned a rather nice shade of red and walked in the opposite direction after he mouthed a rather incomprehensible "excuse me".

Hermione stared wide eyed at Draco's grinning features. There was something radiant hidden beneath his skin, threatening to come out and envelop her in a sweet embrace of possibilities. His eyes were so warm that they melted the frozen demeanour about his presence. He was beautiful. And when the hole within her chest turned into a vacuum of agony that threatened to swallow her, she turned away from him.

"I can't," she said in a small voice, breaking away from his eyes. She felt him stiffening next to her.

"Hermione..." he started, but she stood up from the bed and walked towards the window, covering her naked body with the white bed sheets that still bore the marks of their caresses. How perfect it had all been minutes ago. How uncomplicated and sweet it had all been. She already longed for the bliss of sleeping on his chest, for his hands to caress the soft skin of her back...for his rhythmic breathing to sing her dreams. She longed to feel the warmth of his body next to hers...to feel whole and complete again. _Why did he have to ask me that? _she thought. Why did he have to overcomplicate things? It had been the simplicity of their relationship that she loved the most. He was like a book with empty pages to her...and yet the absence of complicated words was what made him her favourite book. Why did he have to start writing on those pages that were so dear to her for their emptiness? "You don't have to answer now," he persisted, "you can think about it and maybe..."

"Draco, I can't marry you," she said in a harder voice, hoping to hide the shaking element of it.

"You're not even going to consider it?" he asked in a pain struck voice. "Think about it...if we marry, everything will be better. If we marry, we can get away from here and..."

"Don't!" she snapped, tearing her eyes away from the window and finally looking at him. "We agreed...Draco, we promised that we wouldn't be more than friends..."

"Friends?" he asked, standing up from the bed and coming towards her, trapping her between himself and the wall with his arms. "Don't you think we crossed that line a long time ago?" He whispered the last sentence, before his mouth pressed on hers.

"We went too far..." she moaned in a small voice.

"We did not..." he replied, his hands running up and down her arms.

"Please don't," she whispered. Draco finally stopped what he was doing and looked at her, with piercing grey eyes. "Hermione..." he started, "it's a logical step. I love you. I want you be mine..."

"Draco!" she interrupted yet again, her voice rising until he released her form his embrace. She moved away from him, hoping that the string that attached her to him would break with distance. But the further away she moved from him, the harder it pulled them towards each other. He followed her, and they were soon moving in circles around the room. "I can't marry you," she reiterated.

Draco's jaw clenched and he stopped moving. His eyes became a few degrees cooler. "So you still believe that Weasley will come galloping on a white horse..."

"Don't!" she snapped, stopping in her tracks and looking at him with hurt eyes.

"...to save you from the monster that dared to fall in love with you? Are you so naive?" he asked, his voice raising as he moved towards her. She took a step away from him. He stopped moving and now it was his turn to look hurt.

"I'm not in love with you," she lied, but did not take her eyes off him. If Draco Malfoy wouldn't have had a body, his soul would have fallen on his knees. As it was, his spirit held onto his ribs, onto his bones. It held onto his heart and brought it down with him in a bloodied mess when he collapsed. Her words were like an arrow that stabbed him straight in the chest. But he didn't show it. "Maybe we should stop seeing each other..." she said, opening the door and heading out. But before she closed it, she looked at him and said: "I really am sorry."

His hard, emotionless voice came like a dagger in her direction. A dagger that stabbed through the door and ended up at her feet. For as she went out, Draco said, "Yes, maybe we should."

And that is how it ended, though Hermione. Words were stronger than their caresses. Words managed to set them apart. And as she walked towards the dungeons, Hermione ached to say yes to his marriage proposal. She longed to become his wife and not to hide anymore. She longed for Draco Malfoy to make her his. But she knew she couldn't. "Oh, Draco...of only you knew," she whispered to the walls before she disappeared in the darkness of her room.

As Rose walked towards the Gryffindor Common Room, her mind was bombarded by annoying recollections and hurtful angry feelings towards a certain blond teenager. She felt rather proud of herself, grinning at the line she skilfully delivered to Scorpius. Yes, it felt rather good to watch him opening his mouth, trying to find a relevant phrase and the closing it in dismay. She felt a little perplexed, however, to realize that he seemed more jealous than angry when she told him of the plans she had with Lysander. But then she almost stopped walking and banged her had against the wall in annoyance.

"Why the hell should I be the one to feel guilty?" She quickened her step in synchronization with the angry memories that were flooding her veins, making her heart beat faster, flushing her face and bringing thunder to her eyes. She looked, in fact, very similar to the Rose of that particular night.

_Rose stared at herself in the mirror for a while. Who knew that a ball charm could make one stand out in such a light? The charmed red hair that she knew more than her usual auburn hair was placed in a rather messy bun, shining in the candle light and the simple black dress that she chose complimented her long body. For once, she even liked her freckles. And the spot that appeared on her nose a few days earlier was almost gone—with a bit of powder it was almost invisible. She smiled at Alice's choice of red lipstick that she got her from Hogsmade. It definitely did match her hair. The Rose in the mirror gave her an encouraging simile and with a deep breath she headed towards the Requirement Room with Alice and another bunch of overdressed Gryffindor girls. _

_Death Eater Hogwarts had once again restricted that year's winter ball. So it was almost natural that representatives of all the houses got together to plan an illicit one. In the past six years, they never got caught. It was almost as if Hogwarts itself was plotting with them by giving them the Room of Requirement. And that particular year it matched the Great Hall in grandeur and beauty. It was decorated by house elves in ice and snow, but charmed not to be too cold. The dance rink was a non slippery frozen lake, under which charmed fish swam in unison. There were frozen flowers decorating the walls, all in white and silver and the ceiling was illuminated by candles and ice, sending rays all over the place, making the room seem as if it had been touched by snow. And yet this had not been the thing that caught Rose's breath that year. _

_Scorpius Malfoy was dressed in black wizard robes. Even his hair was combed. The look and smile that he offered to her when taking her hand and leading her in were enough to make her fly. Her knees were buckling as he led her on the dance floor and her heart skipped a beat when he drew her close and kissed her mouth. It had all started off so perfectly. It had all been so very harmonious with her feelings and Rose Weasley had been happy. Truly and completely happy. _

She stomped up the stairs towards the common room, wishing someone could take a broom and whack her head. It was never okay to feel too happy, she thought. Happiness was the worst kind of drug. Happiness blinded one and made them see stars in broad daylight. Happiness should be made illicit. It was better to be completely logical and overlook such trivial things as happiness.

"Okay...maybe I am overreacting a little..." she whispered to herself as she veered left.

It did feel good, that blind happiness that Scorpius Malfoy had indulged her with. She had felt whole again, she felt like the whole dad issue disappeared...that missing him no longer dictated her life...that she lived for herself and herself only.

"Someone should have slapped me across the face with a wet fish from the start..." she murmured. Maybe that way she would have looked at him in a different light. A light that would allow her to see through him. Maybe that way she wouldn't have been exposed to the pain he made her feel that night.

_It had been a perfect ball until the point when a bunch of seventh year Slytherins smuggled Firewhiskey in. And then everyone ran around the drinks table like a swarm of locusts, gulping it down like water and then snogging each other in dark corners, making the ice decorations melt with...lust. It was the first time Rose had tried it and after one sip that made her insides burn with liquid fire she set it back onto the table and promised herself to try it again in a few years. It was then that she decided to find Scorpius and get out of there, for the kiss he had given her earlier promised other, greater things. _

_The room seemed much darker than before and Rose couldn't help wondering if it was trying to accommodate the mood of the crowd, giving them more privacy. She walked for what seemed like ages, searching faces and growing slightly uneasy at his odd absence. And then she found his hair reflected in a nearby mirror. _

_But before she tapped him on the shoulder she realized that something was very, very wrong. Surely Scorpius Malfoy wouldn't do that to her...surely not..._

_"_Oh, but he did," said Rose to herself in anger as she veered right towards the Gryffindor area.

_Scorpius Malfoy was snogging a pretty dark haired monster, with beautiful features and no freckles. She was a Ravenclaw. She was running her hands all over Scorpius' back, her pale skin contrasting his dark suit. He was pulling her closer and closer._

_"Scorpius..." whispered Rose too much in shock to move. And when the shock subsided, pain she wasn't accustomed to stabbed her right in the chest. And then came the anger. Two for the price of one. Both rotten and both gone off. _

_"Scorpius!" she said this time louder. A few people turned to look at her and Scorpius jumped a little before he faced her. "What the hell...?"_

_"What?"_

_Another arrow struck her when his features showed neither regret nor guilt. He was still holding a glass of Firewhiskey and seemed slightly unstable on his feet. _

_"Why the hell are you kissing her?" she asked, unable to hide the anger. _

_"Why shouldn't I? She's pretty...she's funny...she..."_

_"You're drunk!" said Rose through gritted teeth. _

_"Yes...yes I am," he replied and then turned to face the Ravenclaw girl who was giggling at Rose's reaction. _

_"Scorpius Lucius Malfoy, you kiss her one more time and we're over!" said Rose trying to hide the fact that her voice was shaking. Scorpius turned to face her once again. _

_"Over? Rose...we're not...not together, you know what I mean?"_

_And another arrow. She raised an eyebrow at him. _

_"I mean...yes...we may have kissed and stuff...but we were just having fun, Rose...we were never together. You know what I mean?"_

_"Fun? It was all fun to you? " she asked taking a step towards him, this time not hiding the fact that her voice was shaking. _

_"Well, yeah. Rose don't get this the wrong...w-way...but, I would never date my servant." _

_Rose's face crumpled into a sheet of rage and pain as the tears finally came. "Oh shit...I shouldn't have said that..." he said and the Ravenclaw girl started laughing. _

_"Fuck you!" said Rose and before she could stop herself she pushed him into the wall. Scorpius fell to the ground in all his drunken glory, with his drink spilling on his trousers. _

_"What the fuck, Rose?" he mumbled..."Rose!" he called rather perplexed as she stormed away from him and away from the Room of Requirement. _

The Fat Lady gave Rose a slightly scared look as the latter snapped the password at her and stormed into the Gryffindor Common Room, slamming the portrait door shut and glaring at a few first years that dared to stray across her path.

"What stupid idiot would still love him after that?" she mumbled to herself as she disappeared to the girl's dormitory. "I guess I would be that idiot."

When Hugo decided to open that old wooden door, his heart was pounding in his chest, beating against his ribs and threatening to escape. And yet, with each beat that grew bigger and bigger, it was almost as if crusts of pain broke away and fell. As the door opened wider and wider to reveal a dangerous darkness, Hugo felt that for once in his life he could forget about the monster within him that collected painful memories and fed upon his feelings of betrayal and anger. Yes...this was precisely what he had been looking for to escape from his tormenting thoughts and induced obstacles: _danger._

And yet he tried not to scream when someone's hand caught his upper arm and drew him inside the consuming darkness. He also tried not to scream as he was being shaken to and fro by the mad man of the dungeons. "What do you want?" he asked in a deep and dangerous voice. "Why are you here?"

"I...I...I..." was all the Hugo managed to say and he nearly lost his balance when the mad man stopped shaking him.

"Who are you?" asked the man in the same deep and slightly silky voice. He no longer sounded as angry, perhaps realizing that no legitimate danger could come from a boy as thin and small as the one before him. He took a step towards Hugo, but the latter backed away, contemplating whether his rebellious side looking for danger was just an idiotic part of his mind that he should make a note to ignore in the future. But then images of his mother in the arms of Malfoy made his heart pound faster, not with fear but with anger as he said: "I'm Hugo. Hugo Weasley."

"What do you want? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be here...to be near me?" he asked in a voice that sounded very sane to Hugo. Definitely not the man he remembered from all those years ago. Not the man who picked Scorpius up and shock his until his eyeballs threatened to come out and roll on the floor. As his eyes started adjusting to the darkness, Hugo also realized that the man before him seemed cleaner and more...translucent than before. And yet as bizarre as he was...he did not seem to be mad at all.

"Are you a ghost?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Do I look like a ghost to you, boy?" asked the man, a tone of irritation in his voice.

"N-o...I...I'm not sure. It's quite dark in here," said Hugo feeling slightly embarrassed. A moment of silence followed. It was clear to Hugo that the man who no longer seemed mad wanted him to go; and yet there was something that compelled Hugo to stay.

"You did not answer my question. I do not make it a habit to repeat myself to a _stu-..._to anyone, so I suggest you either provide me with an acceptable reply or you leave." The acrimony in the man's voice was increasing. He seemed quite ready to have a go at him and Hugo took another step backwards, despite his irrational craving to remain in the strange man's company.

"I...I saw you some years ago, and I was wondering if you were still...umm..."

"So you saw me a few years ago, nearly shaking the magic out of a child and you decided to find me? Is there any sense in you?" The man raised his dark eyebrows at the peculiar boy in remembrance. He could not understand the child's desire to find the monster under the bed, and yet how long had it been since he exchanged words with anybody?

The honesty of the boy almost startled him, when a sincere "yes" escaped his mouth and for a few moments he was at a loss for words. But then his expression once again hardened as he took another step towards Hugo and said in a deep, silky voice: "Why?"

"Umm...I...I...well..."

"Speak out, boy, you are wasting my time!" hissed the man and Hugo felt chills go down his spine as the black obsidian like eyes looked at him with harshness.

"I was curious about you and I...well...I don't exactly have anything to do."

"How about your homework..."snapped the man walking towards the wooden door and pointing at it. "Get out." He had no desire to be hospitable, particularly to a peculiar child whose speech habits were even more annoying than those of first year Hogwarts students.

"I never get homework..."said Hugo in a sad voice as he started walking towards the door. "Don't you get lonely?" he asked in slight annoyance. Ever since he opened the door, he expected a mad secret to loom over him, perhaps to endanger him...but nevertheless to provide him with some sort of macabre secret that he could toy with in his time of anger. He was not prepared for a perfectly sane and yet peculiar sort-of-transparent man to show how much he hated his company.

"Socializing is overrated," said the strange man in a hard voice. He raised his eyebrows at the boy before him...he seemed strangely upset by his rejection. "Besides," he continued, "I have the company I need right here," he finished pointing at a rather large library filled with numerous volumes bound in leather and several rolls of parchment. Hugo's eyes widened at the sight before him as he seemed to feed on the sight. The thoughts of leaving the quarters of the man were quickly abandoned as he walked towards the vast collection, despite the annoyed look on the man's face.

"Get back here," he ordered in a stern voice, but Hugo was already getting lost in titles. He ran his hand over a number of large books..._The Seven uses of Wormwood on a Full Moon...A History of Potion making...Veritaserum Exposed...Dragon Blood and its uses...Potions Almanac... "_Whoa..." he exclaimed before the man grabbed him by the collar of his jumper and dragged him away from the library.

"What do you think you're doing?" he snapped at the boy, but his hard features softened slightly when he saw the excited look in the child's eyes. It seemed almost...painful for him to take his eyes off the library and his Potion apparatus set on the nearby table.

"Are you a Potions expert?" he asked taking a step closer to the darkly dressed man. Hugo didn't take his appearance in beforehand, perhaps because the man was too well camouflaged for the darkness that loomed in the dungeons. His robes were black, matching his shoulder length hair and bottomless black eyes that seemed deprived of light. His skin was contrastingly pale. He looked nothing like the unshaven man with messy hair dressed in rugs that he had seen when he was five. And yet...he knew it was the same person.

"That," responded the man, "is none of your business. Now _get out_," he repeated in a sour voice, bending slightly until his face was eye level with the boy. There was something about the boy's brown eyes that reminded the man of a certain girl he once knew, but he soon dismissed the thought and dragged the Hugo towards the door. "Open it and leave," he ordered.

Hugo eyed the man in a peculiar way before opening the door and slipping through. But before he had the chance to close it, his eyes fell on the wooden table in the far end of the room. Until then, he could not have explained the small source of light that kept total darkness at bay in the mad man's quarters. But right there on the table, was a live lily in a glass of water. And above that white lily, was a small lumos charm, casting its protective rays over the flower. The mad man caught the boy's eye and when Hugo looked up at him, he saw how irritable anger changed into pain. He closed the door, contemplating that it was better to leave the man alone. But as Hugo made his way from the dark corridor, he knew he was bound to return.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen—The Ghost of Gryffindor Tower**

**September 2021**

Rose Weasley tossed and turned in bed. At one point she even punched the pillow, hoping perhaps that the duck feathers within it would send her the secrets of sleep. But no secrets came. Her eyes were wide open, no position was good enough for more than five minutes and her bones screamed for her to get up and let them move. She remembered her mother telling her of the Hogwarts she attended in her youth. She remembered the stories about how her father and Uncle Harry would sneak out of the common room and wander the corridors at night with the aid of the Marauders Map. She longed to do just that. Of course, there were no Death Eaters running the school back in her mother's time. If she even attempted to leave the Common Room, she would surely be found by Jugson or Gibbon, or Merlin forbid, Blackwell himself since he seemed to spend more time at Hogwarts than at the Ministry of Magic. Torturing students must be a thousand times more fun than paper work, she huffed.

Why did she have to think of Scorpius Malfoy, she thought? Of course she couldn't sleep...the memory of that night subconsciously played in her mind over and over and over again, scaring sleep away with the possibility that she should dream of him. Dream of the hands that held the Ravenclaw girl close...the same hands that used to hold her close. Dream of the full lips that danced with hers and the heart beats that seemed to intertwine. She longed for him, she really did long for him.

But thoughts of the Owlery made her frown. How many hours did she spend in there, crying after him after the incident in the Room of Requirement?

"Ughhh, Scorpius Malfoy, I hope you're choking in your dreams!" she whispered kicking the blanket off her and making her way down to the Common Room, hoping that the burning chimney would make her ooze to sleep. Even if it was on the couch.

But Scorpius Malfoy was not sleeping. The Slytherin Common Room was empty save for himself and his un-obedient quill. He looked at his watch: four am, and internally groaned. So much for a fresh morning, he thought. After rubbing his eyes, he glanced down at the piece of parchment and the lone two words at the top.

_Dear Mother, _

He cringed at the word mother. How alien and inappropriate it seemed to him to call her that. He wished to take a chance and just address the letter to Astoria Blackwell or Mrs Blackwell, but he was sure Dominus would have something to say about that. "Do it for Quidditch..." he whispered to himself remembering Blackwell's threat should he fail to write the letter.

_Hogwarts is great. The Death Eaters are all kind to us in lessons and even reward us with sweets if we do well. Oh, did I mention that daddy Dominus paid me a visit? I was thrilled to see him and we had a very father-son conversation. Do pass him my love. _

_I guess that is what you would want to hear, is it not Astoria? For once in my life I want to be honest with you. I am scared. I am scared because of your husband…I don't need to go into details, for you surely know what he did to me when you weren't bothered to stand between us. Isn't that enough of a reason why I never wrote to you? I wish I could just send you this. But I am scared of what he will do to me if I make you angry. Therefore, I will lie and tell you that I still love you…that I still care about you… _

_But let me tell you this: you lost me a long time ago, mother. Since the day that you didn't stop Blackwell from using the Cruciatus on me, I only have one parent. And that is Draco Malfoy. _

_Sincerely,_

_Scorpius Malfoy_

He sat back in his chair and let out a heavy sigh, trying to ignore the tears that were prickling in his eyes. He would not cry. He was nearly seventeen for fuck sake, he though. And besides, Malfoys never cried, or so his granddad would say. Scorpius felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted off his heart. How he wished he could just send Astoria that immature and anger filled letter. How he wished to say those things to his mother. Would she cry? Surely not, for she didn't care enough about him to do so. He took the piece of parchment and started tearing it apart. No, she would hardly feel the arrows he threw at her through his words. She would merely read the letter, pass it to her husband and tell him to deal with her rebellious son. As fulfilling as it might feel to send her that letter, he would just buy himself more pain. Blackwell didn't specify the way in which he would prevent Scorpius to play Quidditch. For all he knew, Dominus could blow up his legs. No...he certainly couldn't take that risk.

_Dear Mother, _

_6__th__ year Hogwarts is rather hard. There are a lot of assignments to hand in, and even more Quidditch matches to get through. I apologise for not writing earlier—I got carried away with my school life, however, I will not let this happen again for I do not want to upset you._ (He inwardly cringed at his lie.) _I hope this letter finds you well and happy and I am looking forward to seeing you soon._

_Love, _

_Scorpius_

He placed the letter in an envelope, and then in his bag, making a mental note to send it first thing in the morning. He then lifelessly stood up from his chair and made his way to the boys' dormitory, distracting himself from his inward anger by thinking of Rose and her fiery red hair, full lips and green eyes. Truth to be told...he had been thinking of Rose in excessive quantities lately. But it was only late at night that he allowed himself to be completely truthful as to why. He didn't think of Rose because she annoyed him, nor did he think of her because he felt like arguing with someone. No, he thought of Rose because he wanted her back. But he wasn't so sure he didn't already lose her for good.

He fell asleep imagining the various ways Lysander Scamander could die.

Rose Weasley was lying on the Gryffindor common room couch with her eyes closed. She liked to pretend that the chimney fire that she felt playing on her face was a real person. She liked to think that this real person was male with blond hair and blue eyes and the gentlest hands she ever touched. She imagined him caressing her face, urging her to sleep, making the headache go away.

"You're not Scorpius Malfoy..." she whispered slowly to the fire person of her imagination. "You're better than him...but you're not the one I love..." she continued only half aware of what she was saying for sleep started to overcome her, numbing her senses and clearing her mind.

And soon she fell asleep, but only half so. She was still aware of her surroundings, still aware of the couch on which she was sleeping and still aware of the rather startling feeling of being watched. Her eyes popped open and she abruptly sat up. She wondered for how long she had been asleep, for the chimney fire was dimmed and the room seemed much colder and more unfamiliar. There was no one around, but Rose still felt the little hairs on her arms standing up alerted and she cursed herself for leaving her wand on the nightstand.

She jumped from the couch as a book fell off the table onto the stone floor with a heavy thud. "Who's there?" she couldn't help asking.

"Rossseee..." The voice came like a long pain-struck whisper, making her hug the pillow she subconsciously took from the couch when standing up even tighter. It was definitely a male voice, she thought. And judging by the low temperature in the room, it was definitely a ghost. But, she thought with a start, it was definitely not a ghost that she knew. It was then that the chimney fire grew in size, making Rose fall back down on the couch. And it was only in that moment when she fell that she finally saw him disappearing through a wall before the room returned to its normal esprit.

"It can't be..." she whispered shell-shocked and as white as a piece of muggle paper. Sleep abandoned Rose and in its place came paralytic shock. "It just can't be..." she repeated and tried to make out whether the shock would direct her to happiness or more grief.

Draco Malfoy watched the chimney fire casting moving shadows on the wall. There was one shade that reminded him of Hogwarts. But maybe that was just his excessive use of Firewhiskey playing with his mind. He wondered if she would have said yes had he behaved differently back then. He could count the number of times he called her a mudblood on both hands. Then he wished to chop all of his fingers off. Maybe that way he could reduce the number to zero. Maybe that way she would say yes. Maybe that way she would truly forgive him for having been such an arsehole.

He pushed the thought out of his head and took another sip of the spirit, aiming for oblivion for the first time in a while. But the urge to get up and go to the dungeons still didn't disappear. His legs were twitching with desire. The desire to hold her close and kiss her and make her say yes.

Why didn't the alcohol work? Why didn't it make him forget? It always worked when he wanted not to think of Astoria after a bloody fight...why didn't it work with Hermione? He placed the glass on a nearby table and caught his head in his hands. It didn't work because she _was_ the oblivion he was looking for. She was the oblivion he needed when Voldemort and his Death Eaters became too much to bear. He knew it wouldn't be long until he had to join them; he had to do it for the protection of his son. There was no way out of it. But without Hermione...he wasn't so sure he would be able to last and be strong. If he didn't have her...oh Merlin, he was in love. Truly and irrevocably in love. He knew that she loved him back. Why then, did she not say yes?

The absence of an answer to that question made him angry and filled with grief. His hand searched for the glass of Firewisky only to knock it off the table and make it shatter to pieces on the stone floor. He felt like cursing, but his lips didn't obey. So he just sat there, all power lost, and for the first time in many years, Draco Malfoy started crying.

She only took off her robe when the bath was filled. Throwing it on a nearby chair, she lowered herself into the mass of hot water, letting it caress her ice cold boy, soothing away the goose bumps and relaxing her muscles. She let out a heavy sigh and tried to clear her mind. She hated the dungeons in the autumn. The rain outside impregnated the walls with humidity, making the cold much harder to bear. It was like a wet, cold parasite that insisted on attaching itself to her body. How she missed the radiators of muggle London. She imagined Draco frowning at the thought of muggle radiators and half smiled to herself. But then her smile faded and she pushed him out of her mind.

Hermione ached. But it was not the kind of pain that she felt after turning Draco's marriage proposal down. It wasn't the kind of ache she felt for not being able to tell him how much she actually did love him. No...this was different. This pain was like a monster growing within her, each day more. Each day making it harder to cope. Each day affirming why it was impossible for her to marry Draco.

For despite the love she felt towards Draco, the love that she held for Ron was stronger. She could not say yes to Draco because she longed to be with her husband. Hermione poured more shower gel into the bath, allowing more foam to form and cover her like a warm blanket. She smiled at the memories that came flooding in. She gave birth to Hugo in the bathtub, three weeks before she was due. Ron always used to joke about Hugo getting bored easily. She remembered the shock that washed over his face when she called him in the bathroom. It was only natural for a husband to help his heavily pregnant wife in and out of a slippery bath. And yet, when Hermione called him to help her out, she was holding a small bundle of skin in her arms. The bundle of skin was not crying. His eyes were wide open as he looked at Hermione and listened to her talking soothingly to him. But when Ron approached, it was not his face that smiled down at her, but Draco's.

She abruptly pushed Draco out of her mind as monstrous guilt gradually filled her, the same way that water had earlier filled her bath. Hugo's brown eyes stared at her, each day with growing pain, each day with growing hate. He was so young, so vulnerable. Or was he strong now? His thirst for knowledge pained her. Was she right to deprive him of his education? She laughed with bitterness at the thought of Hermione Granger of all people denying her son of books. How she longed to read to him, to introduce him to the world of knowledge she once so bitterly loved. How she dreamed that he could do something great with his life.

Of course, this was no longer valid. Or so she hated to admit. "Knowledge…" she said out loud, bitterly, as if each letter was a heavy weight that bore her down. She thought of knowledge as a live thing, as a being that betrayed her in the most hurtful way possible. As a young girl, she once believed that knowledge would grant her the key to some secret door of possibilities…possibilities that were not granted to someone who didn't have such an intimate relationship with books. But then it all changed. Knowledge was no longer a possibility. The more you knew of the new regime, the more paranoid you became of the bold inability to escape. The clearer it became just how doomed you were. No…the enlightenment provided by knowledge was no longer something one sought to achieve. This is what Hermione repeated to herself each day. For despite the hurt it caused her, she forced herself to believe wholeheartedly that the only way her son could survive in such an abominable new world run by Death Eaters was through being kept ignorant. Maybe that way, he would start hating the world in which he lived. Maybe he would come to hate it so much that he would want to leave it once he was of age. She hoped that he would end up being so disillusioned with magic…or rather the absence of it, that he would seek life in the muggle world and live in hiding under a different name. Maybe that was the only way Hugo could find tiny sparks of the happiness that was so unfairly denied to him.

And , Hermione thought, when Hugo would leave the wizardry world for good, there would be nothing to hold him back and string him to a past which he could not forget. And she included herself in such a statement. Yet…despite the fact that Hermione repeated this to herself each day, twinges of monstrous guild still grabbed her from behind and stabbed her back, causing agonizing pain. Was she right to distance herself thus from her son now of all times? Was she right to assume that Hugo will eventually give up the world for which he was created? Had he been allowed to go to Hogwarts, he would have certainly been a Gryffindor. Would a Gryffindor give up his life to live like a muggle for his own safety? She distanced herself from him precisely so that when he would decide to live in the muggle world, he wouldn't feel sorry to leave her behind. He would be glad to leave. He would hate the life that she created for him, but he would be safe. Yet doubt filled her once again. In distancing herself from him, had she failed to see his true nature? Had she failed to know her own son? Surely he would never forgive her if he chose to stay. How she needed her mother's advice. Should a mother vouch for her child's happiness of safety in a world where the two were no longer compatible? Was ignorance the right road to safety? And really, was Hugo even that ignorant? She caught him on numerous occasions going through Draco's books. He surely did inherit her thirst for knowledge. And this made it a thousand times harder for her to keep him ignorant. It also made it a thousand times more painful for her to distance herself from him. To torture them both for safety. Was that really as justifiable as it first seemed to her?

And then there was Rose. Her little girl sent to a Hogwarts that she no longer knew. How grim she became every time she came home for the holidays…how depressed she was whenever she had to go back to a Death Eater dominated place. How she wished she could keep them both home. But attempting to withdraw Rose out of Hogwarts would have been like attempting to withdraw a chick from a pit of serpents. Surely the Death Eaters would inquire as to why Rose Welloby was withdrawn from Hogwarts; and if no proper reason would be found, then all of them would be doomed. No, Rose's situation was different and far more complicated. While ignorance was the easy way out for Hugo, Rose had to strive for the exact opposite. She needed the weapon of knowledge higher than that of the Death Eater brains, in order to find a way out. Hermione just hoped her little girl was strong enough to try and break thorough while remaining as low profile as possible.

And yet, Hermione couldn't help feeling as if she failed them both in trying to keep them safe. She couldn't help thinking that the actions on which she embarked for both Hugo and Rose were so very, very wrong. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying, in vain, to clear her head and find a reasonable course of action. But as soon as her eyes were closed, the accusing glares of Hugo and Rose burned her. The pained look on Draco's face sliced her in half. And when the pain of what she saw as her failure was more than she could handle, an extended hand appeared in the distance. For a moment, she was overwhelmed by the strong desire to take this hand and let it lead her somewhere far away. But she couldn't do that just yet. Things were not right…things were messy and things had to be set right.

She jerked upright in the bath. The water was no longer hot...it was just warm and warm wasn't good enough. She started shivering so she quickly got out of the bath, cast a drying charm over herself and made her way to her dormitory, where she collapsed on the bed, exhausted. Before she fell asleep, she said: "I won't be too long, Ronnie."

Hugo was no longer so sure that his plan would work out. Last time he had been lucky, he thought as he made his way through thorn embedded bushes and fallen rose petals. Last time both Draco Malfoy and his mother believed he needed some time by himself after the fight they had had. So it was only natural that they didn't inquire of his whereabouts.

He stopped for a moment, pondering on whether he should continue in his adventure or whether he should abort. He looked at the high fence that contoured the Manor several kilometres away from it. He could still give up now and return to the dungeons like an obedient child.

A mischievous smile crossed his face. No…he wouldn't return. Why should he? Surely, after everything that had been denied to him he could take a few hours of freedom without having to explain himself. A few hours of freedom as far away from the Manor as he could afford. In the wizardry little town of Wiltshire.

Throwing his backpack upon his shoulder, he started climbing the fence and within minutes he was out in the open. Out of the thorn contoured grounds of the Malfoy estate. Or so he hoped.

"Judging by his wealth, I wouldn't be surprised if he owned the whole of bloody Wiltshire…" he mumbled to himself as he started heading towards the small forest through which he had to traverse in order to find the path towards town.

It felt exhilarating…it felt liberating; with each step he took away from the manor a new air of dangerous freedom went through him and soothed his pain of being held like a prisoner. For once in his life, he didn't dread returning to the manor; not when he knew that he could always make his illicit trips into town. And now he had another similar incentive—the possibility of a real, yet peculiar friend down in the dungeons.

Hugo had been into the little town of Wiltshire only once before. It had been right after an argument he had with Hermione regarding his unfair inability to go to Hogwarts. After slamming the door in her face, he ran into Draco who had heard the shouting and pain-struck accusations from his study. He placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder and led him into a small drawing area. He said nothing on the way there, but his hand softened on Hugo's shoulder when he heard a few sniffs coming from the boy. Once inside the room, he made him sit down on the sofa and offered him a handkerchief, which Hugo refused.

_"I'm not crying!" he protested, and for the boy's comfort, Draco pretended to look away as Hugo quickly wiped away a tear. "I just have a cold…" he mumbled._

_"Hugo," started Draco in a deep voice, "I understand why you are upset, but there are things you may not understand right now. Perhaps when you're older…"_

_"Oh, please stop pretending that you care…"_

_"Do not speak to me in this voice, young man!" snapped Draco at the boy, but Hugo's angry stare did not cease. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked at Mr Malfoy as if he were his worst enemy. _

_"I will talk to you however the hell I want!" he snapped, standing up, wishing he were taller. Draco's intimidating posture and cold eyes thrust upon his calm but deadly expression did not make him feel better either. And then a wave of warmth went across Draco's eyes. When he spoke he did not shout. _

_"Hugo, you are paining your mother a great deal speaking to her like this. It's for your own safety that you are not at Hogwarts. She loves you so much…"_

_"Great way of showing it, don't you think?" he asked, but the fury that he previously felt was reduced by great amounts. He sat back down on the sofa and looked at his hands feeling guiltier than ever. He knew that Hermione loved him…but the anger that enveloped him these days made his overlook such emotions. He hated her for wanting his safety, he hated her for loving him enough to keep him at the manor. Sometimes he wished that she could love him less so that he could have more dangerous freedom. He felt so overwhelmed by his feelings in that room with Draco, that for the second time that day he couldn't stop the tears from falling. Before he knew it, the fourteen year old was quietly crying, the tears falling on the hands from which he didn't dare look away. He only looked up when Draco placed two fingers under his chin and lifted his head. The ice cold eyes softened when they saw the red rimmed brown ones. _

_"Look," he started softly, but the boy looked away. He didn't like that soft voice coming from Draco Malfoy. It seemed fatherly. It seemed caring. And it was long ago that Hugo accepted the fact that he no longer had a father. To have Draco speak to him in such a manner, made the boy almost like him…almost look up to him like a father figure. No…that wasn't possible. He stood up abruptly yet again, and moved away from Draco. The latter gave him a slightly questioning glare. _

_"You're not him…" he said barely above a whisper, heading for the door. Draco's questioning glare turned into a knowing look. It wasn't that hard to guess what was going through the boy's soul. _

_"Hugo…" he started again with the intention of telling the child that he would never try to replace his father, but that he would be there for moral support should Hugo need it. _

_"YOU'RE NOT MY FATHER!" he shouted defensively and ran out of the room. And he kept on running until he was out of the manor and until he reached the main fence. And without thinking, he climbed it until he was out of the Malfoy estate. He only stopped running when he reached a lonely road. He had been so blinded by the rage and the contrasting feelings within him that he barely acknowledged traversing the small forest that he always saw when looking out of the western windows of the manor._

_Hugo didn't want to return. He didn't know where the road would take him, but his legs compelled him to walk ahead. He stopped only when a small village came into view. The excitement in his heart grew at the prospect of freedom and interaction with humans who did not know his whole background…humans who might just treat him normally. People and places that may just make him forget Draco's father-like behaviour and Hermione's hurt eyes when he told her he hated her. _

_His mood lightened as he walked past every shop window and every stall of vegetables and various magical objects for sale. He stopped outside a closed broom shop and started at the wooden flying objects for what seemed like an eternity, daydreaming of the wizards he had read about in books when he was younger. He missed the games he used to play with Scorpius and Rose whenever they came from Hogwarts. He loved the liberating feeling of being in the air and of being able to control the broom, make it go in the direction in which he wanted…he wished he could control his life like that. _

_"You do know that one in three wizards in the middle ages died from broom games, don't you?"_

_Hugo turned around startled, searching for the voice that was undoubtedly directed at him. And that was the first time he saw her. She seemed to be a girl of thirteen, wearing a pointy black witch's hat with a falcon feather that was undoubtedly too big for her head. She stood behind a stall selling various dried and non-dried plants. She offered him a small smile and at once, Hugo was captivated by the dark, almost black eyes, coated by long eyelashes that contrasted her very pale skin. From beneath her oversized witch's hat, a long, black plait rested on the left side of her body. Hugo was compelled to approach her and as he did, the smell of dried dittany enveloped him. _

_"You don't like flying?" he asked, and the girl's smile widened. _

_"Why would I fly when I have two very capable legs for walking?" she replied and started arranging what some peculiar looking dried leaves with orange margins on the stall. _

_"The amount of time it would take you to get somewhere would be greatly reduced," said Hugo slightly amazed at the girl's first response. _

_"I'm in no hurry to get anywhere…" she said seriously as her smile disappeared as she turned her back on him and started taking out some dried herbs from a small leather bag. Hugo at once felt as if he unconsciously insulted or upset her. Aiming to set the situation right, he said: "Well, I suppose flying isn't for everyone. At least you can apparate when you are of age." But when the girl turned to face him, her eyes appeared even grimmer. _

_Even more confused than he was before, Hugo extended his hand and said: "I'm Hugo." _

_A flicker of smile appeared back on the girl's face. "Hugo what?"_

_"Just Hugo," he said and looked away. He hated to give others his name as Harry Welloby. He felt stupid and crazy to tell this stranger his first name…but he felt a sort of freedom at revealing himself thus. However, he could not take the risk of revealing the name of Weasley as well. She gave him a small smile and extended her hand to him, saying: "I'm Dawn Morgan. So what do the Potions masters of Hogwarts require of you this year?" she asked and this time it was Hugo's face that turned grim. _

_"I'm not here for provisions," he said darkly. Dawn raised a dark eyebrow at him. _

_"I suppose you already bought your stuff from Diagon's Alley. But you do know that the Potions Emporium there gets much of its stuff from around here. Next year, you might as well buy potions ingredients from here…they are much cheaper and come in greater quantities," she said, but her voice trailed off as she saw Hugo's eyes saddening. _

_"Yeah, next time I will," he said, imagining for a few moments what his life would have been like had his lie been true. "What house are you in?" he asked. He had read a lot about Hogwarts and the sorting ceremony…and given the girl's slightly peculiar character and assumed knowledge of potions ingredients he would have placed her in Ravenclaw. But Dawn looked down at her pale hands as she said: "I'm not a Hogwarts student."_

_"Oh," was all the Hugo managed to say. "May I ask why?" he asked. _

_"You may not," she said and an attempt at an evil smile appeared on her face. _

_"Sorry," said Hugo, unsure of how he was supposed to react. Human interaction was not his strong point. _

_"So are you going to buy anything?" she asked after a few moments of awkward silence. _

_"I don't have any money with me," he said lamely. _

_"Next time you should bring some," she said simply and returned to arranging her plants. _

_"I will," Hugo found himself saying. "It was nice meeting you, Dawn," he said and gave her a small smile as he started making his way back. Dawn did not look up as he spoke to her…but once he was far enough away, she looked after him as a small smile appeared on her lips._

This time, however, Hugo did have money. One hand was in his pocket, playing with the sole Galleon he managed to sneak out of his mother's dormitory, as, for the second time in his life, he walked towards the little town of Wiltshire that was slowly appearing before him. He had nothing of particular interest or need that he wanted to buy. But there was something about Dawn Morgan that made him want to see her again. He wondered why she didn't go to Hogwarts…wondered whether she too was imprisoned by her own past. How he wished to tell her that he lied…but then she would definitely not want to speak to him, and he really did want a friend that was his age.

He had been so caught up in the memories of his first adventure in town, that he almost didn't notice the thick fog that descended upon the road. He stopped in his tracks and started thinking. He could try and turn back to the Manor, however, trying to navigate through the small forest in such a fog, would surely get him lost. His only option, therefore, was to continue walking on the straight road towards the village and hope that by the time he had to return, the fog would have cleared. With this in mind he started walking again, not taking his eyes of the stones on the pathway. He was afraid he would lose his way if he looked ahead and tried to discern anything through such a heavy curtain of nature.

Ad perhaps if Hugo wouldn't have concentrated so much on his memories and on the stones on the road, he would have heard the approaching footsteps behind him. But he did not, and it was not long before a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. Hugo gasped when the slightly surprised and slightly irritated face of Lucius Malfoy peered down at him.

"Well, well, well…what do we have here?"

Every bit of Rose cringed at how wrong the particular moment she was experiencing felt. She tried to focus on what she was doing, hoping that a higher level of concentration would enable her to feel the sparks and moths she felt within her at the beginning. But kissing Lysander Scamander couldn't feel more wrong than it felt right then. She subtly broke the kiss and looked at him. His eyelashes were not as big as Scorpius's, she thought. But his eyes seemed warmer…a darker blue. A kinder heart.

"What is it?" he asked as he caressed her cheek.

"Nothing," she lied, inwardly cringing. His smile widened as his face came closer to hers, his eyes closing and his lips preparing to kiss her once more.

"I didn't see you at breakfast this morning?" she said rather fast, moving a little further away from him. His eyes abruptly opened and he raised his left eyebrow. "I overslept," he said.

"Really?" she asked, this time raising her eyebrows. "Alice said she saw you and Lorcan arguing by Ravenclaw tower."

"That was later," he said, his face darkening and his voice becoming colder. Rose placed a hand over his, but when he looked at her, his eyes didn't soften. "Are you and Alice stalking me?" he asked and stood up from the couch. The Gryffindor common room was empty save for the two of them,

"No!" said Rose, standing up as well. "It's just something that she mentioned at breakfast….Lys, I'm just worried about you."

"There's nothing to be worried about," he said defensively.

"I beg to differ. In a castle full of Death Eaters, I have the right to worry about my boyfriend when I don't see him at breakfast," said Rose in a clam voice. But she couldn't ignore the sudden feeling that Lysander was hiding something from her.

"They only attack when you annoy them…if you give them no reason to be annoyed with you, then they won't strike," he said in a soft but still colder than normal voice.

"No, Lysander," she said getting slightly angry, "they strike for pleasure, but this is not the point. Why were you arguing with Lorcan?"

Lysander turned his back on her, facing the chimney fire. A moment of silence followed. "Brothers sometimes argue," he said. "It was nothing." When he faced her, Rose knew that something was very wrong.

"You're lying," she said. She inwardly sighted at how easily she could read him. With Scorpius it was different. While Lysander was an open book, Scorpius was a highly protected grimoire.

"I'm not lying. Even you said…Alice saw me arguing with Lorcan."

"Lysander I know you! That face you have on right now, is not one that tells me it was nothing!" she said exasperated.

"Maybe you don't know me as much as you think you do, then," he said in an angry voice as he took a step towards her. "I'm going to go out of the common room for a while. When I come back, we will act normally towards each other." With that he headed for the portrait door and within seconds, Rose was alone.

She couldn't quite pin point what was wrong with Lysander. A part of her, urged her to go after him and confront him. But another part of her…the part that always alerted her of danger, told her to stay put as it replayed the calm and deadly voice Lysander Scamander had just used. It was almost as calm and deadly as one used by a Death Eater.

She groaned and collapsed on the sofa, placing her head in her hands. It had all been so nice and perfect at the beginning…her relationship with Lysander had been great. It was true that there wasn't the magic chemistry she felt when she was with Scorpius, but Lysander could still make her smile…he could still swing her off her feet with a kiss. He could still hold her hand and tell what was wrong with her. She still liked him. But he had acted so strangely in the past few days. Whenever she saw Lorcan and Lysander together, there always seemed to be s a strain between them…untold words perhaps. And she also couldn't help feeling that these strains were growing. "What is he hiding?" she thought out loud. Lysander had never previously hid anything from her, so naturally, Rose couldn't help but feel that whatever caused such changes in him was not something that could be easily overlooked.

But her thoughts were soon interrupted. When she lifted her head from her hands, the chimney fire was greatly reduced and the room had become decidedly colder. The feeling of being watched came back and the little hairs on her arm stood up alerted. A strange feeling grabbed her stomach and her heart accelerated. She slowly stood up from the sofa and looked around the now dark common room.

"Who's there?" she tried asking in a confident voice, but only a mere whisper came out. Nobody replied, but the room got even colder. Rose could see white vapours coming out of her mouth when she breathed. "What do you want?" she tried again, but it still came out as a whisper.

"Rose Weasley," said a voice that Rose thought she knew. She looked around and finally did find what she had been looking for. There, in the far corner of the room, right by the stairs leading to the boy's dormitory, a white misty ball of light was expanding. When she finally realized that the strange feeling within her stomach was not fear, Rose took a few more steps towards the murky, expanding substance. It was now an oval, and from that oval, two legs appeared, followed by two arms. Rose looked mesmerised as the mist metamorphosed into a ghostly body. The features upon the face became more prominent, the shape of the eyes accentuated and the lips started smiling warmly at her. And Rose felt the need to hold on to the sofa, just to make sure she would not collapse with shock.

For right there in front of her, smiling reassuringly, stood the ghost of Harry Potter.


	15. Chapter 15

Hugo stared up at Lucius Malfoy's ice-like features. The grey eyes pierced though him like a sword and it made Hugo even more uncomfortable when Lucius's mouth curved into a cold smile. "Well, well, well…what do we have here?" he asked in a deadly quiet voice, much like Draco's. The long back cloak and his pimp cane only made him more intimidating and his perfect platinum hair was tied at the back, giving one the eerie feeling of an evil aristocrat that escaped from a rare book. Perhaps he was a twisted version of Heathcliff, but of course combined with the mysteriousness of Mr. Rochester and the doubled wealth of Darcy. Yet appearances are often mistaken when aiming to mirror the soul. Hugo did not know what to say. He just continued looking at Malfoy Senior with big eyes, as if he were stupefied. Eventually, he opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. These only made Lucius raise his eyebrows higher, summoning a set of lines on his forehead.

"Has my son or your mother approved of this morning walk of yours? asked Lucius in a deep, slithering, voice. By looking at the terrified boy's face, he already knew the answer to that question. Hugo looked utterly petrified. "I shall take that as a no," he said when Hugo did not reply. He could actually see the boy turning a shade paler. "Well I'm sure they will be very interested to know what you are up to…"

"Please don't," pleaded Hugo. Something within Lucius softened at that small, frightened voice. For a moment, Hugo could see his ice eyes becoming a few degrees warmer, but then the emotionless mask was placed back upon his face. Once more, he raised his eyebrows in a questioning glare that demanded answers.

"They…they don't know I am out of the Malfoy estate…" he said in a small voice that trailed off into silence. He found looking at Lucius' intimidating posture and face too painful, so he cast his eyes on the rocks around the road.

"Ah, I see," started Lucius. "And has it ever occurred to you that it is dangerous for a child with your…_background_…to wander around a town he barely knows when Britain is ruled by Death Eaters?"

"Well, when you put it like that…"mumbled Hugo, but Lucius's sharp voice once more sliced him in half: "Do not answer back!" he said in a calm but deadly voice. "It was very foolish for you to leave without telling anyone." Hugo wanted to add that if he were to tell someone, he would most likely end up imprisoned in the dungeons, with the Mad Man for company for the rest of his life. "You ought to be chastised for this, Hugo. And look at me when you are being spoken to!" When Hugo looked up, another layer of colour peeled itself off his face, especially at his name being spoken in such a…cold manner.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, trying his best to keep his eyes on the older man's face. Once again, a small smirk appeared on Lucius's face. "No, you are not," he eventually said and this time it was Hugo's turn to raise his eyebrows. Was he really such as bad liar? Such an open book?

Lucius inwardly laughed. Oh, how he enjoyed winding up the boy. There were so many similarities between Hugo and young Draco that he sometimes wondered whether the two were actually related. If Hugo would have been at Hogwarts, he would have definitely been a Slytherin, or so Lucius thought. For there was a cunning nature within the boy…an esprit that he recognized far too well; and this always made Malfoy Senior take a certain linking to the boy.

"Well," Lucius eventually said, "there would be a way for you to correct your foolishness." Hugo's wandering eyes became bigger. "I so happen to be on my way to Wiltshire…and may be in need of some spare hands. Prove to me that you can be an obedient boy and I might, just this time, let your little outrageous excursion slip from my mind when I will see my son."

There was a sudden warming within Lucius's chest as the boy's eyes heated up and a small smile appeared on his face. Hugo had always admired Lucius Malfoy in a strange way. The man was dark and scary, however, there was kindness hidden within him, which he never allowed people to see. But Hugo did see it…he saw it in the way he would place his hand over his wife's shoulder…he saw it in the way he would ruffle Scorpius's hair and the way he always seemed to speak a little softer than usual when addressing either him or Rose. And this time, Mr. Malfoy's words confirmed that he was capable of sympathy.

As an imprisoned child, Lucius knew that Hugo wanted nothing more than to just escape the brooding shadow of Malfoy Manor for a few hours. He had been walking behind the boy for at least ten minutes before he stopped him. And he saw how cautious he was…with every step he took towards the village, it was almost as if he was a small puppy that made its way for the first time through the snow. Cautious and unsure with each step that he took. It was his intention at first to take him back to the Manor and demand a full explanation for his foolishness…but there was something in the boy's eyes that stabbed his heart when he mentioned Draco, his mother and the Manor. And then he thought that a few hours of freedom would not do the boy any harm if he was accompanied by someone responsible. Surely, Hugo would attract far less attention if he was with Lucius. A lonely child wandering the streets of Wiltshire could be questioned by the authorities as to why he was not in Hogwarts. It was true that Hugo was sharp enough to lie…but Lucius inwardly cringed how bad the boy was at it. But the authorities would never stop someone like Lucius Malfoy, even when in the company of an under grown, poor looking child. He would just look like his squib servant, and the living picture of exploitation certainly fitted the image of Malfoy Senior.

Mr. Malfoy ignored the voice in his head that repeatedly and annoyingly reminded him that he just wanted to make the boy happy. But Lucius would never admit that. He could, after all, do with a spare set of hands since he had a few things to buy. And he found house elves far too annoying to summon. Or so he tried to justify his decision to take Hugo with him. "Well then?" he eventually said directing his icy glare at the boy.

"I'd be glad to help you, sir," responded Hugo, making use of his best manners, but his voice was slightly shaky. Relief washed through him and his posture relaxed. It seemed that Hermione and Draco wouldn't find out about his journeys after all. With a curt nod, Lucius started walking up the road. The mist had partially cleared and if one looked up, some sun rays managed to penetrate through the heavy curtain and illuminate the day. Hugo followed Mr. Malfoy and smiled a little, an image which pleased Lucius, even though he would have never admitted it.

They walked in silence for most of the time. Lucius went in various shops and emporiums, buying several vials and objects which didn't look like anything familiar to Hugo. In two or three of the shops that Lucius went in, Hugo was made to wait outside and when Malfoy senior would come back out, his face would regain the little bit of warmth that he allowed himself to show Hugo. The things that he bought would have definitely fitted into his cloak pocket, were he to place a shrinking charm on them. But Lucius insisted that such charms were for the careless and the lazy, since they had the ability to damage goods. And so Hugo's hands became very useful, once the hours passed and the number of shops they visited increased to numbers that Hugo couldn't keep a count of.

It is miraculous what little deeds can do with human beings, especially those who, like Hugo Weasley, are deprived of normalcy. On his own, Hugo would have never dared to walk inside any shop…but with Mr. Malfoy, it seemed that all the doors opened, even for someone like him. He inwardly laughed at the thought of Lucius Malfoy as his lucky charm, but the sharp look he got from the older man made the smile on his face disappear. Hugo once again had to remind himself to behave like a servant.

When they walked into the last shop for the day, however, Hugo's servant mask fell off his face and shattered to pieces on the floor. His mouth opened very largely and he almost dropped all the goods that he had to hold. Lucius turned his back on the boy to hide a small, sincere smile. He had no idea that a book emporium would produce such reactions within the child. Hugo followed him like an obedient puppy through the various book stalls as Lucius picked up several volumes and newly published grimoires. Hugo did not pay particular attention at any of the titles…he was too engrossed in the smell of parchment and the dust particles that lifted themselves into the air, like fairies, each time Lucius would place a volume back on the shelf.

Eventually, they reached the till and Hugo's eyes widened once more as Mr. Malfoy took out five gold galleons. The book keeper seemed utterly terrified of the platinum blond male who hovered over his desk and as they made their way towards the door, Hugo could hear the old man let out a sigh of relief. He barely even acknowledged the small and curious boy by Lucius' side. Once outside of the book emporium, Lucius hastily handed five of the books for Hugo to hold. "Just one more stop," he said and started to make his way to the stalls located by the edge of the forest, at the far end of the village. Hugo's heart skipped a beat as the realization hit him: he would see Dawn Morgan again.

The dark haired young witch was arranging a couple of fidgeting blue cabbages on the stall. From the distance, Hugo could swear she threatened one of them with a sharp knife and in the blink of a second, the moving cabbage stood still. When Dawn finally looked up from what she was doing, Lucius Malfoy was already a few feet away from her stall. Her eyes widened when she saw Hugo walking behind the intimidating tall man, and for a moment, a flash of smile appeared upon her lips.

"Good morning Mr. Malfoy," she said in a small voice. Lucius gave her a curt nod before starting to inspect the content of her stall. He frowned at the few things, perhaps comparing the Morgan merchandise with the neatly packed ones in the Diagon Alley Potions Emporium.

"Hello," said Hugo, trying to maintain the balance of the objects that he was carrying.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, looking from Mr. Malfoy to him with suspicious eyes. "I didn't know you worked for the Malfoys." There was no sense of rigidity in her voice as she mentioned the name of "Malfoy". Indeed, if Hugo recalled correctly the moment from earlier, she greeted Lucius with what seemed to be utter…_respect._

"My mother and I…we are employed by them," he said, rather embarrassed as he scratched his left ear. Dawn said nothing, but continued staring at Hugo.

"So you lied to me," she eventually said, a frown forming from her soft features.

"About what?" asked Hugo slightly puzzled. This only made Dawn's frown deepen. "I thought you said you went to Hogwarts," she said but without looking at him. Her pale hands were busy arranging some lavender leaves.

A fire became bigger within Hugo, fueled by her words if they were oxygen. It wasn't exactly that he was angry or upset. He felt mildly irritated at Dawn's words; they stabbed him in a different way than pain and anger. There was something about Dawn that he liked and yet he felt as if she were not a person that he had to justify himself to. He was ashamed that he felt slightly…_superior_ to her. He couldn't quite pinpoint why. When he spoke, his words were sharp as a dagger. He would later regret his sharp outburst, but right then, Hugo felt slightly relieved.

"No I didn't…I just didn't contradict you when you assumed I did." Dawn did not reply, but Hugo went on, as if speaking more to himself than to her. "It just seemed like a nicer way to end our first conversation…you assuming that I went to Hogwarts. That my life was mildly interesting. But I guess you are right; I should have contradicted you. I shouldn't pretend to be someone I'm not." He took a few steps towards Dawn, whose dark deer-like eyes were once again upon his face, her gaze softer than before. "Hello Dawn. My name is Hugo and I am a servant at Malfoy Manor. How are you today?"

Dawn opened her mouth to say something but words did not have time to come out because Lucius Malfoy's hand came upon Hugo's shoulder and in a hard voice he said: "Come, we're going." Dawn lowered her eyes, mumbled a have a good day and as the two made their way towards the main road of Wiltshire, her eyes burned upon Hugo's back.

Lucius cast Hugo inquiring looks throughout the journey back to the manor. The boy seemed troubled, wound up in his own mind, holding on to the books that Lucius had brought as if for dear life. He had not been near enough to hear more than random snippets of the boy's conversation with the Morgan child, however he could tell from his tone when talking to the girl that it had not exactly been a pleasant exchange. They continued the rest of the journey in silence, Hugo too caught up in his own thoughts to do more than acknowledge the dark presence before him. And yet as the Manor started appearing in the distance, Hugo's blurred refuge of thoughts started disappearing and sharp reality hit in: the day trip was over and he had wasted the last part of it by acting like dumb pair of gluteal muscles towards Dawn Morgan. And now Hugo was beginning to be filled with dread at the thought that he idiotically pushed away his only chance at making a normal friend. He hated himself more than ever for letting his emotions override his rationale and he swore under his breath in much the same way that he overheard Draco say it.

"I beg your pardon?" Hugo stopped rather abruptly as they reached the main gates of Malfoy Manor, having forgotten that Lucius had been next to him the whole time.

"Puck…I just said Puck…as in…err….the character from Midsummer's Night Dream. Shakespeare." Lucius raised his eyebrows at the child. He wasn't aware of Draco's possession of muggle fiction.

"Don't make me order a house elf to wash your mouth with soap, boy," he said in a harsh tone followed by a smirk at the socked look Hugo cast him. The youth mumbled a small apology and cast his eyes upon the approaching manor.

They made it to the small drawing room in silence. Hugo was carrying the leather bound volumes that Lucius had acquired in his hands, wishing to prolong the feeling of being in fake possession of such knowledge. But then Malfoy senior's harsh, deep voice brought him back to reality.

"That would be all. You are dismissed." He made a gesture for the boy to hand him the books. The black leather gloved hands were rather intimidating. However when Hugo extended the volumes towards the older man, Lucius took them all except one. Then he immediately turned on his heels and started walking away from Hugo.

"Sir, excuse me, err…"

Lucius stopped walking. He had already reached the doors and without turning around he said: "I don't need that particular one." Without another word he disappeared, leaving Hugo rather bewildered as he stared down at the book that Lucius did not need.

_A Theory of Potions for Beginners_

* * *

"It can't be…" she said in a voice that did not quite belong to her. In a world ruled by Death Eaters, Rose learned not to be surprised at things as common as appearing ghosts, or how Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had been transformed from heroes into enemies who deserved their "cowardly" death. She ran a hand over her face and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the ghost with round glasses and a lightning bolt scar was still there, still smiling. "Harry Potter?" she whispered in a small voice. The ghost nodded once. "But…but _how_?" she asked, taking a step towards him.

"There isn't time to explain now," Harry said looking towards the closed portrait of the Fat Lady. "I need you to listen carefully, Rose. A week from now, I want you to come to the Owlery at thirteen minutes past two a.m. Come alone and come quietly. Everything shall be revealed then."

He sounded strange. No, not strange, but unfamiliar. Although Rose had been very little when uncle Harry and her father died, she still remembered the weekends when he would come and visit. And he never spoke in such a mechanical manner. It wasn't particularly cold, but it just wasn't uncle Harry's voice. And yet still…the eyes looked warm and kind, behind the ghostly spectacles. They looked…green. And his smile was the same, yet it never disappeared. The ghosts of Hogwarts had all expressions of melancholy upon their faces, as if they all secretly fed in the Cave of Spleen. But Harry's ghost seemed uncharacteristically cheerful, and the smile upon his face seemed to be permanently engraved, as if by a wood carver, for it never withered.

Could she take this chance? Getting caught would mean off the record torture, and she knew it. Maybe he wasn't even real…maybe he wasn't really Harry. Maybe he was a trap. But if he was not, then he was a chance. And Rose Weasley needed a chance more than anything. Anything that would break her away from the painful existence of a "stay invisible" self-made routine. She could not abandon this hope and as she stood all pensive in the middle of the common room, she felt long forgotten twinges of Gryffindor bravery rush adrenaline-infused blood through her veins. Her first instinct was to rush and tell Scorpius what she had discovered, but then she mentally slapped herself as Lysander's face entered her mind. _He was her boyfriend now. _And yet still, she could not picture herself telling him such news. He had been behaving rather oddly lately, and she thus felt too insecure in their relationship to share Harry Potter's ghost with him.

As if summoned, the portrait of the Fat Lady opened and Lysander Scamander walked into the common room looking a lot calmer than he did before. He even offered Rose a little smile which she did not return. Indeed, Rose appeared to be in a sort of trance and didn't even flinch or blink as Lysander touched her arms. Eventually, she lifted her gaze to look at him, but her eyes were somewhere else. "I'm going to bed," she said abruptly and without another word, disappeared up the staircase and into the girl's dormitory. As she laid her head on the pillow, the longing she wished to subdue was growing despite the cage she placed it in. _Oh dad, please come back to me as well._

* * *

The red haired witch started out of the window. And yet perhaps _daydreamed _is a better description, for her eyes focused on nothing in particular. The room she was in was empty, save for the neatly arranged suitcases by the door. They dared leave nothing behind, not even the furniture, not even the dust. Nothing that could give clues as to what they were planning to do. Nothing that could reveal their identities. And in the world in which they lived, even dust had unwelcoming eyes.

It was nearly dawn and they had to start making a move. The forest was looming large and dark before the small hut which she had for three whole years called home, offering the protection of elder trees and moss and dark shadows. The forest would act as a chameleonic veil; for once again in her life she would walk in with one identity and come out a completely different person. Each time leaving a little bit of her true self behind…ultimately forgetting the person she started out as. It was easier for _them, _for they were younger. The past may have inflicted deep wounds, but time had been kind with them…time had allowed them to forget, even if just a little. But for her, who had lived before it all went wrong and twisted, before the carnage no longer surprised people, before the Dark Regime became mundane, for her this was still painful. It was painful because no matter how strong she remained, she could never be strong enough without him.

From across the room, the children watched their mother's petite figure. Her red hair still had the luminance they remembered from their early childhood, even when sprinkled with a little grey at the side. There were no wrinkles at the side of her eyes, no smile lines acting as a parenthesis to her mouth. She seemed deadly serious, and her dark green robes added to this first impression of her. But although this might be the way a stranger would perceive her, Albus, James and Lily knew for sure that when Ginny opened her mouth, the softest, most encouraging voice would come out. Apart for when she commanded Albus to brush his teeth every night and when she scolded Lily for charming her hair pitch black. Then she had been fierce, much like they remembered nana Molly to be.

Feeling James's interrogative eyes upon her, Ginny turned her head to face them, attempting to offer the youngsters much needed encouragement. But only a half-smile had the strength to appear on her pale face and her eyes looked down at the well-polished floor for a few moments. "We'll find home again," she finally said when regaining her voice. Lily rolled her eyes saying, "But I _liked it_ here!"

"I know honey, but we have to move on. You know that we cannot stay in one place for too long," said Ginny in a soothing voice, but the eyebrows of the young witch before her grew increasingly together. "So we'll keep running for the rest of our lives?" she said her voice getting louder.

"We run until we can fight. And we fight until it's over," said Ginny taking a step towards her daughter. "That's what dad would have wanted us to do…"

"I hardly remember dad, so I don't give a shit what he would have wanted us to do. This is my life too and frankly, mum, I don't want to run anymore." It was James that slapped the back of her head, rather hard.

"Never talk like that about dad!" he said in a deadly, poisonous voice. Lily looked up at him with pure hate.

"Come on James, you must think this too…what if it's_ never_ over?" she said in an equally deadly voice.

"Then we die fighting!" he snapped. "We're not giving up. Not to them."

"I think we'll die running, not fighting. I'd rather die now if life means we'll hide in different places with no interactions!" she spat and stormed out of the hut, past her mum and towards the forest. Her unnatural dark hair loomed over her like a veil of angry melancholy.

"She'll get over it," said Albus in a calm voice. "Lily's such a drama queen!"

"She's just upset," said Ginny in a soft voice, going after her daughter. James and Albus followed closely behind and the luggage floated obediently after them. The dusk air was clogged with humidity and the grey clouds ahead made the probability of rain very likely. The cottage in which the Potters had lived for three years was becoming smaller and smaller in the background of a blurry past, and it was soon lost behind all the branches and lichens at the entrance of the forest. While Albus leisurely watched the wildlife, stopping a few seconds at every interesting insect he found before James tugged him along, the latter walked nervously ahead, expecting every bush to pose a major threat. It was only the sight of Ginny and Lily holding hands that comforted him a little, and he felt that for that night, they may just be okay.

A new era had started.

* * *

He was just standing there, tall and dark when she came out of the bathroom. She was hardly startled, for it was customary of Draco Malfoy to creep on her like that, and before their previous encounter she had loved such _surprises._ But now a lump formed in her throat and Hermione wanted nothing more than to just return to the bathroom and flush herself down the toilet. "What do you want?" she asked in a voice full of defensive acrimony.

He said nothing for a while, but simply made his way towards the window, looking out at the grey sky before turning to burn her with his icy stare. "I will make arrangements for you and your son to be transferred to a different house to live and work," he said in a robotic fashion. When Hermione said nothing, he continued. "There is an old aunt of mine living in the north. She is partially blind a deaf and the housel elves cannot deal with such a big mansion alone. You will be safe there. She hardly leaves her room and nobody would ever suspect her of having non-pure blood servants. If the arrangements run accordingly, you shall be gone within a week," he finished and showed no emotions when her eyes filled with tears and her hands became fists.

"You can't do this," she said in a weak voice. "Draco, you can't do this to me."

"Can I not? I fail to see an alternative."

"I can't marry you," she said as the tears finally fell on her jaundiced cheeks. "Draco, I…"

"Yes, you have made that quite clear. You also mentioned that we should break whatever we have off. This is the only way. Don't you see? I am intoxicated. While you are in the house I cannot do anything but hate you for refusing me. I do not understand you, I do not want to. I want whatever is left of my life back and in order for that to happen you have to leave," he said almost aggressively, taking a step towards her.

"You have to understand that no one could ever replace Ron for me," she said regaining her ground. "You had to understand that from the very beginning…it should have gone without saying…"

"I know that. I never asked to replace the father of your children. Never!" he reiterated. "But I could have loved you too, maybe not like him, but I could have been there for you. I could have protected you and Hugo and Rose. It would have been _the healthy thing to do_…to move on. Hermione it's been eight years since Weasley died! You have to let go, and if you can't do that here, then perhaps it would be better for us both if you went away and we never saw one another again."

"You never let one finish, do you?" asked Hermione with a sad half smile.

"Pardon?" he asked rather confused as she sat down on the bed, looking out of the window.

"I didn't refuse you because of Ron," she said after a painful sight. "_The healthy thing to do_…" she repeated his words in a small laugh. "Is there anything healthy about this world anymore?" She finally looked at him and for the first time in his blinded love, her dark eye bags and slim figure started gaining a different meaning. A meaning which had been unobvious to him before for he had always dismissed them as signs of fatigue.

"What are you talking about?" he asked approaching her.

"Oh Draco…how do you want me to move on when I'm running out of time to even take a step forward? You've been so kind to me…but it would be easier for you to lose me as a lover than as a wife."

"You're lying!" he exclaimed and sat down next to her. In one swift movement he placed both his hands over her cheeks, dragging her into a hungry kiss. "You're lying," he repeated in a soft voice as if telling her a tale of love. Hermione gave him a sad smile that confirmed his fears. "Hermione you're not just my lover….you're my _everything_! I will fix you, just let me know what's wrong. I will get the best healers…please don't look at me like that!"

"Shh…"she said soothingly. "I'll be your wife this evening. Just lie down with me for a bit." Draco hugged her close to him as the bed welcomed them like long lost lovers. "Never leave me! Do you understand? Never…" he whispered as he held her tighter. "I need you near me Hermione Granger."

"_Malfoy_," she corrected before falling into a disturbed sleep as Draco Malfoy held her tight. He smiled a little before dosing off next to her frail body. It pained him greatly for he felt her to be older than she was biologically. Older than his ancient aunt far north.

When Draco awoke from his slumber the room was decidedly darker. He had been lying on his side with Hermione in his arms for such a long time that he felt rigid and numb. Caressing her face, she felt unnaturally cold, colder than death itself and when he tried to move her arm a little, he found it to be very stiff. "I'll warm you up," he whispered soothingly, but his voice broke a little. "I'll keep you safe," he continued rocking her to and fro for hours and hours until the coldness of the night was shattered by the dawn. And it was only when the sunrays bathed the room in a warm glow that Hermione moved a little and offered Draco the small smile that he had been waiting for the entire night. Without that smile one could have easily pronounced Hermione Weasley dead.

* * *

Rose couldn't particularly sleep that night. She tossed and turned in bed, counted sheep, even tried reading her History of Magic manual, but sleep was determined not to embrace her so she gave up. There was a rather unpleasant feeling in her stomach and her brain felt overworked, for ever since she encountered Harry's ghost, she replayed every detail in her mind to the point of incoherency. She was now not even sure she saw Harry at all. What if it was all in her mind? What if she was slowly going insane? On and on she went off in a tangent until the dormitory…no…the entire Gryffindor Common Room became stuffy and unbearable. It was the fresh, pensive air of the Owlery that she needed, and as swiftly as quietly as she could, she made her way out of the girls' dormitory, half expecting to still find Lysander as she left him in the communal area. But of course he wasn't there and Rose tried to ignore the relief that washed through her. She wished he had the same calming effect that Scorpius had on her. She wished she could just see him and feel infinitely better. But right at that moment, the solitude of the dark Owlery combined with the adrenaline of getting caught was immensely more exhilarating.

Rose tried avoiding all the corridors where she knew teachers patrolled at night. Whenever she heard a noise, she would hide behind a pillar like a guilty escaping convict…for Hogwarts felt more and more like a prison each day, suffocating the life out of everyone that didn't take the chance to escape, even for a few minutes at night. And yet she made it to the Owlery, climbing all the way up to the top where the owls were so used to her presence that they hardly acknowledged her. Rose sat in her customary spot and looked at the sky for a moment, but the stars were hidden beneath a veil of dark, smog like clouds about to pour a viscous rain. Indeed, the night was so dark that she could hardly make out her own hand in front of her, let alone the tall figure standing broodingly not far behind.

"Rose?" came a whisper from behind.

"Lumos," she exclaimed startled and nearly blinded Scorpius Malfoy who covered his face with his hands. He too was in his pajamas. He too was barefoot despite the coldness. But he had been slower than her in drawing his wand. A rush of relief came upon them both at the realization that their midnight escapades remained safe from the hungry eyes of Death Eaters. "What are you doing here?" she said in a cold voice, yet a cold voice that did not deny pleasure in seeing him.

"I could ask you the same questions," he said in a composed voice resembling that of his father. Rose scoffed and, half ignoring him, she sat down in her customary spot, watching the viscous sky. "You know this is _my_ place of refuge," she said.

"Don't see your name written on it," he shot back as he sat down next to her with a half smirk. Oh how he loved winding her up. She didn't have the energy to start a battle of words with him, so for a few minutes they just sat there in silence, trying not to show one another the forbidden pleasure they both felt.

"It was Blackwell, by the way," started Scorpius in a small voice. "He gave me the bruise you inquired about."

"I know." Rose's voice was warmer than she wanted it to be, but she did not mentally slap herself this time, for she felt Scorpius's body softening next to her. And despite all the hurt that he had caused her, she still inwardly smiled at the comfort she made him feel. "You should tell your father," she continued in an attempt to right whatever small thing she could.

"No," he replied in his customary defensive voice. "He has enough on his mind."

"You're more important to him than anything that might be on his mind." Scorpius snorted and even Rose only half believed her own statement. It was true that Draco Malfoy loved Scorpius more than anything, but not even she could deny the fact that he had been extremely distracted by life's queries lately. And so had her mother.

"I don't want to give Blackwell the satisfaction," said Scorpius and Rose had the immediate feeling that he was trying to appear older and stronger than he actually was. "You know how powerful he is…dad would not really stand much of a chance."

"True," said Rose and another moment of heavy silence followed at the acknowledgement of their own doom. They heard the fluttering of heavy wings in the distance, but could not see anything before them. The creatures felt peaceful and yet at the same time angry, as if carrying a thousand dead people's burdens on their shoulders. But if the two youngsters looked diligently enough they could almost make out shining white orbs. And if they looked closely enough at those orbs, they could almost make out the faces of those that died before them.

Rose felt the little hairs on her arms stand up and chills ran down her spine like serpents. Despite not being there when her father had been killed, she could still make out his lifeless features. And it was a painfully clear image enclosed in those white Thestral orbs. Ron's ghastly face disappeared and was replaced by the young face of the muggle born boy that _accidentally _died during the Sorting Ceremony in her second year. And she knew that Scorpius saw him too, for he stiffened next to her and she could almost hear his eyebrows drawing together into an angry frown.

But soon enough the Thestrals disappeared further north into the night, allowing Rose and Scorpius to fall back into a slightly less relaxed silence. But the silence became violent and soon enough, Scorpius could not stand it anymore.

"It's your turn. I told you about my bruise. What's your secret?"

There was something about the warmth of his body that made her want to open up. She could have easily told him about the ghost of Harry Potter…she could have easily told him that she still wanted to be with him, more than anything. But she did not. Instead, she opened her mouth but no words came out and she only looked at him with unnaturally shining eyes.

So he leaned forward and kissed her mouth, and before she could register and account for her actions, she responded, her hands escaped in his un-kept golden mane as he dragged her closer by the waist and the kiss only intensified. It was Lysander Scamander's smiling face appearing in her mind that slapped her across the face with a wet, stinking fish.

"I can't," she whispered, abruptly breaking the kiss and standing up. 'I can't," she repeated and stormed out of the Owlery before Scorpius got the chance to say anything.

Rose carelessly ran down corridors and veered left and right unthinkingly. She was not even going towards the Common Room, not even towards Gryffindor Tower. The only thing she could coherently focus on was Scorpius's kiss and Harry Potter's ghost. She could see nothing before her eyes and it was only when she bumped hard into another body that reality hit her. She mentally murdered herself for having been so careless, for right there in front of her, wearing an extremely angry mask, stood a murderously frowning Professor Jugson.

* * *

**A.N. Thank you for reading. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. I would love to know what you think. I also want to apologize for not marking changes in POV clearer in previous chapters. I didn't realize that the separation line did not transfer when I copied and pasted the chapters into Document Manager on this website. I will not let that happen again as I know how off-putting and confusing it can be. **


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